


A Bitter Pill to Swallow

by AnotherTakenUsername



Category: RWBY, We Happy Few (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Death, Drug Use, Hallucinations, I Don't Even Know, Injury, Maybe - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:56:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21539377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherTakenUsername/pseuds/AnotherTakenUsername
Summary: 'A Joy a day keeps the Grimm at bay!'Reeling from a terrible tragedy, one desperate town came up with an unusual solution to keep themselves safe and happy. Unfortunately, with supplies running low, plague spreading, Downers causing chaos, and outsiders shaking things up, Wellington Wells isn’t seeming quite so joyful anymore.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33





	1. Lovely Day For It

_“Hastings Brothers Win Scrap Gathering Prize!”_

On the surface, the article was deceptively simple. Two brothers finding a bunch of old cars and prams for the scrapyards, in a time when raw materials were desperately needed. The two lads won a wonderful fifty Lien prize, the metal got used to help build up the city’s industry, and everyone moved on with their lives.

Safe. Happy. Simple.

For Arthur Hastings, looking over the headline, the article was anything but simple.

He stared at the picture to the right of the article, seeing a sight that he had forgotten long ago. On the left of the image, Arthur saw himself smiling awkwardly at the camera, trying to hide his discomfort behind a pair of massive glasses and well-combed hair. On the right…

_“Arthur! ARTHUR!”_

Percival Hastings.

His brother.

The image showed Percival standing around, ramrod straight, gazing disinterestedly off to the side of the camera. His eyes were a bit sunken from exhaustion, and his hair was a touch more unruly. It almost looked like he would simply walk away from the picture…

_“Where are you, Arthur?! Arthur, please!”_

Were it not for Arthur’s hand firmly gripping Percy’s arm.

Was it meant to be reassuring? Forceful?

Why couldn’t he _remember_?

_The children scream in panic as the trains are hastily loaded. Armed guards stand on the platforms nearby, glaring at anyone nearby and forcing parents back out the doors._

His vision began to swim as memories stormed into his mind, drowning his consciousness in a wave of pain and fear. Arthur’s arm reached out, gripping onto his bottle of Joy as if it was the only thing that could keep him sane. He quickly tore off the cap, throwing a handful of pills into his open palm.

“I should just take my Joy…shouldn’t I?” Arthur mumbled, staring back at the ancient newspaper before him. One pill, and the memories, the panic, the shame, _all_ of it would be no more.

Percy would be no more.

_Whistles shriek out as bobbies call for order. The speakers overhead calmly ask the children to keep inside the train, seemingly oblivious from the chaos unfolding nearby._

_“No, no, no! Arthur!”_

Arthur slammed the pills into his desk before sweeping them off onto the floor. The empty pill bottle quickly followed, flying to the trash can in the corner of his office with an unsatisfying _thump_.

He didn’t want to forget. He couldn’t.

Arthur clutched his head, struggling to make sense of the sheer number of visions and sights that went through his head. Feelings that had become foreign to him suddenly crushed his mind, causing him to double over in shame and fear.

More feelings, more memories, more shame, more _pain, more fear, more Percy-_

“What have you been up to?” A new voice suddenly called out, breaking through the fog in his head.

Arthur flinched, looking wildly around the room until his eyes landed on the new occupant standing in his doorway. He couldn’t help but flinch upon seeing who it was.

Victoria Byng was watching him, arms crossed and a stern look on her face. It was a terrifying, unnatural sight, the likes of which Arthur had only seen a handful of times. He still wasn’t quite sure what had happened to that poor intern, but the rumors had been far from pleasant.

“Oh, you know…working! J-just working!” Arthur stuttered out, laughing awkwardly.

“Then why haven’t I heard a _whoosh_ from here in hours?” Victoria asked back, moving towards his desk.

Arthur blinked, glancing towards the clock. He was sure it had been early morning when he had first seen that article! Surely it couldn’t have been as long as the clock said! Even if the shadows were much, much longer in his office. Or if his stomach felt like it was trying to curl up into a ball of misery.

“Have you taken your Joy?” Victoria asked, suddenly right next to his desk. It took everything Arthur had to simply flinch instead of flinging himself backwards out of the chair. He hadn’t even seen her move!

“Y-Yes, o-of course I have! Snug as a bug on a drug!” Arthur said, trying to offer a calming smile towards her. From the unimpressed look she gave him, it was abundantly clear it didn’t work.

“Then hurry up. You don’t want to miss the birthday party, do you? Don’t take too long to finish.” She said, popping a Joy pill into her mouth. Her concerning frown swiftly morphed into a radiant, joyful smile, accentuated by the white mask she wore.

 _‘That’s…a rather fast change of attitude.’_ Arthur thought, blinking again as Victoria practically _skipped_ back towards the hallway. _‘Is it always like that, or did I just not notice before?’_

As he watched Victoria close the door behind her, Arthur’s eyes fell back on the Redactor machine in front of him. They then trailed over to the pneumatic tube sticking out of his desk, filled to the brim with dozens of other articles in need of approving or ‘restoring’.

“…Well, I suppose this might give me a chance to clear my head, at least.” Arthur said, sighing as he looked at the article one last time. His eyes fell on the picture one last time, burning the image of Percy’s face into his mind before he covered it all in ink.

He couldn’t afford to have anyone figuring out he was off his Joy. Not yet, at least.

After all, he had a promise to keep.

He would find Percy, even if he had to travel all over the Four Kingdoms to do so.

* * *

Ozpin stared at the image on his scroll, trying to resist the urge to sigh. Instead, he simply grabbed his favorite coffee mug, hoping that the new blend would keep him from getting a headache.

Even in his many, _many_ years of existence, there were always those moments that never seemed to truly go away or fade into history. The Great War, the events at Mountain Glenn, everything that had happened with Salem…

And now, it seemed that the forgotten town of Wellington Wells could be added to that ever-growing list.

It had been years since most people had thought about the town. Grimm attacks on outlying settlements were not uncommon, and the unfortunate events that befell the poor town had quickly been forgotten. Little news had been heard from there ever since the inhabitants had gone into isolation, and many of those that still remembered it thought that it had simply died off.

The corpse currently lying in one of Vale’s morgues told a much darker story.

Prudence Holmes, identified by an I.D. card found in her bag, had been found washed up in Vale’s harbor a few days ago in a small, heavily damaged rowboat. The police investigation had quickly turned up a number of questions, such as the unusual clothes and disturbing white mask the woman wore, glass tubes filled with a glowing purple substance, and a variety of unknown pills in a small bottle labelled ‘Joy’.

However, the real horror didn’t begin until the autopsy report came back.

The body had shown signs of starvation, extensive drug use, blunt force trauma, and other significant injuries and problems. From what the coroner had been able to determine, the body showed signs of sustaining this type of damage for a number of years, although decay made exact figures difficult.

It all painted a disturbing image as to what had happened in the town, along with even more questions. The town had clearly not fallen as most had believed, but it seemed that something terrible was going on there once more. Prudence Holmes had clearly been fleeing from something, and it was doubtful that she was the only one suffering in such a manner.

Ozpin frowned, sipping at his coffee. Whatever was going on in that town, they couldn’t simply ignore it. At the same time, Qrow was already out on a mission, and as much as he disliked it, he couldn’t risk losing the information that he could provide.

As he thought, his eyes glanced over the rosters of teachers and student teams. The new arrivals certainly seemed promising, with a number of students he was taking care to monitor personally. Silver eyes, mining heirs, repentant criminals, tournament champions…

Ozpin shrugged, opening the messaging app on his scroll. While he disliked sending out students into uncertain situations like this, they had already proven themselves thus far.

What better way to challenge them than by sending them out on an expedition to an unfamiliar, potentially dangerous settlement?


	2. Downer Detected

Arthur sighed as the last newspaper flew down the pneumatic tube, disappearing in a familiar _whoosh_ of pressurized air. It had only taken him around half an hour to finish processing the rest of the paperwork, but it had been remarkably stressful compared to how his normal workday went. The memories of Percy certainly hadn’t helped with that, but with the lack of Joy in his system, it was even worse!

Before, all he had to do was glance at a paper to see if it was happy or sad. He’d never had to actually _think_ about what the paper talked about, or if it tied into any other events. However, now that he was able to comprehend what was written in them, he couldn’t help but read up on what else he had forgotten.

Evidently, that had been bloody near everything.

_‘General Byng Urges for Co-operation with Occupation Authorities’_

_‘New Anti-Grimm Defensive Systems Tested’_

_‘Drug Trials Prove Effective, Mild Impact on Aura’_

Each new headline sent a sharp spike of memories into his mind, dredging up half-remembered events and vague conversations. However, even in the foggy miasma of his mind, a few details still stood out. The dreadful shortages of the occupation, people being put into forced labor, increased attacks from the Grimm…orders to register the children…

He shuddered, suddenly feeling quite glad that he had the privacy of his office to break down in. Looking at his ‘Employee of the Year’ certificate never failed to cheer him up, and the window offered a lovely view of the Parade District.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t stay there for much longer. There was Dierdre’s birthday party to attend, and as much as he didn’t want to go, there was no way he could avoid it. Everyone in the office had been invited, and if he tried to duck out now, _questions_ would be raised. They might figure out he was off his Joy! Not to mention how dreadfully awkward it would be to come up with an excuse.

Arthur stood up from his desk, slowly moving towards the doorway. Right now, all he had to do was fake it until the workday was over. Once he got out, he could go back home, come up with a better plan, get a few bits and bobs, and figure out some way to get across the Bridge. After that…

Well, Arthur had no idea. Go town to town, seeing if Percy had been around recently? Try to go to one of the major cities, like Vale or Atlas, and look for people willing to help? Keep following the train tracks and look for clues? And all that was assuming he’d even make it past the anti-Grimm defenses around the city, or the Grimm themselves!

“Focus, Arthur, focus.” He chided himself, stepping out into the stark hallway beyond. The sleek, curved white walls and black flooring helped keep him from getting distracted, unlike some of the decorations in his office.

As Arthur went further down the hallway, he glanced at some of the other rooms nearby. On the left side of the hallway, the contents of the Inter-Network Room could be seen through a massive window, with dozens of interlinked pneumatic tubes sending processed papers to…well, somewhere, he supposed. Possibly to an archive of some sorts, or perhaps a library.

On the right side of the hallway, several offices were spaced next to each other. Arthur’s was at the end of the hallway, befitting of his impressive accomplishments in processing papers. Clive Birtwhistle, the little shit, had somehow managed to nab the office next to him despite his terrible workplace attitude. Finally, at the end of the hallway was the office of Prudence Holmes, one of Arthur’s old workplace friends who had gone off on holiday.

“…Wasn’t Prudence supposed to return from holiday today?” Arthur wondered. As he looked closer at the door, he noticed that the nametag was heavily smudged out, as if someone had tried to rub the white lettering off but stopped partway through. It was a bit much for someone simply taking a trip over to Vale, wasn’t it?

He couldn’t help his curiosity. After taking a quick glance around him, making sure he was alone, Arthur gingerly opened the door.

The inside of the office was not a pretty sight. A basket of food lay long-forgotten on a metal cart, filled with rotting sweets and fruits. Thick layers of dust coated the furniture, with more drifting throughout the air as Arthur stepped inside. An old string was hung across the ceiling, with most of the blown-up letters strung across it having fallen to the floor.

It was a space that had clearly been undisturbed for weeks, and possibly even longer.

“But…shouldn’t this office have been cleaned? Or at least tidied up a bit?” Arthur murmured, moving further into the room. As he got closer to the desk, he could make out a number of Joy bottles placed on the desk, right next to Prudence’s Redactor.

Not a single one of them had been opened.

“You’re off your Joy, Pru? I mean, you too?” Arthur asked, almost wishing that Prudence would answer him. If she wasn’t taking her Joy, and wasn’t coming in to work, then…had she already made it out of the city? Where had she gone?

His eyes fell on the nearby wall, where pictures were pinned to a corkboard and tied together with lengths of red string. She had been so cheerful about her vacation plans before, talking about hiking around the forests and seeing the exotic locales. Had she been figuring out an escape plan all along? Did she ever make it to Vale?

“Wherever you are, Pru, I hope you’re safe.” Arthur whispered, heading back towards the door. Taking one last look inside, he sighed, shutting the door behind him. While it pained him to admit it, he had to focus on other things for now. He could try to find Prudence once he made it out of Wellington Wells. If he was lucky, maybe she’d even be near where Percy was!

“Yeah, right. And maybe Uncle Jack will come around and hand me the keys to the city.” Arthur grumbled, shuffling his feet.

“No, NO! Leave me alone!”

Arthur stopped, flinching at the sudden screaming. It sounded like it was coming from just down the hall, near Hopkin Jones’ office. But why would _Jones_ , of all people, be screaming like that?

Trying to remain quiet, Arthur carefully snuck over towards Jones’ office. Thankfully, for whatever reason, Jones’ office had a massive window out in the hallway, with the drapes still open. Perhaps it was meant to let managers see how the person inside was doing, even if it was a bit on the large side.

If that was its purpose, it did its job quite well for Arthur. It gave him a perfect view of Jones being restrained against his desk, desperately clawing at the intimidating figure of a Doctor standing above him. With the thick black trenchcoat, green fedora, and nightmarish grin he wore, it was impossible to mistake the other figure for anything else.

“Please, I’ve taken my Joy! I’ve taken-” Jones choked out, kicking and scratching at the Doctor as he squirmed. The Doctor, undeterred, quickly brought his free arm out of his coat, sticking a syringe right into Jones’ neck. Jones’ struggles immediately stopped, with his body going limp and his eyes glazing over. His face, which had just been twisted in panic, was now morphed into an insanely gleeful smile that seemed even more horrifying.

A smile that was being sent directly at Arthur.

“Oh, hi Arthur!” Jones slurred out, leaning heavily against his desk. The Doctor immediately twisted to face Arthur, his eyes glaring malevolently behind a massive pair of spectacles. In a way, they almost reminded Arthur of the ones he had worn in that article photo. It would have been funny if the Doctor hadn’t started to walk over towards the window, keeping his gaze on Arthur the entire time.

What was he meant to do?! If someone like Jones had been caught, then surely that Doctor would be able to sniff _him_ out! He could run, but then they’d call security, and he’d never see Percy again, _and_ -

And as the Doctor reached the window, he gave Arthur a little wave, his smile seemingly growing by the slightest margin. A second later, the Doctor’s hand reached out, quickly snapping the blinds shut.

Arthur blinked, staring at the window while his thoughts tried to catch up. _That_ was all that the Doctor did? No terrifying chases, or harrowing escapes, or grievous injuries? It was…surprisingly fortunate, if completely nerve-wracking.

“All the more reason to get going soon.” Arthur whispered to himself, hastily moving towards the Central Processing Unit. From there, it would be a simple walk to the conference room, where an awkward birthday celebration awaited him. The Doctor probably wouldn’t try to snatch him with that many people around. Probably.

Opening the door, Arthur was greeted with a chaotic, disorderly mess in the form of the Central Processing Unit. Every desk, filing cabinet, and waste bin in the room was filled with stacks upon stacks of old newspapers, with several having already fallen over onto the floors. It was as if the entire floor was being run by _Clive_!

_WHOOOSH_

A sudden, terrifying sound caused Arthur to duck instinctually, covering his head with his arms and whimpering. After waiting for a second, in which nothing tried to attack him, he slowly glanced up towards the source of the noise.

One of the pneumatic tubes had evidently broken down, and was now shooting newspaper containers directly at the floor. Where the tube was aiming, someone had placed a small bucket, which was currently overflowing with dozens of the smaller containers. A small cardboard sign marked with ‘ _Watch Your Head!’_ lying nearby was the only notice that had been given about the damage.

“I knew that we were running a bit behind on our work, but this is starting to feel a bit excessive.” Arthur mused, glancing at the conference room door a few feet away. He could already hear the shouts and cheers of the birthday party going on inside. “Shouldn’t someone have called a maintenance team by now?”

“Arthur? Is that you out there?” The voice of Victoria Byng called out, catching Arthur’s attention once more. “Hurry up and join us!”

“C-coming!” Arthur called out, quickly sidestepping the bucket and entering the conference room. Inside, there were several people gathered around the table, whacking at something on top of it with clubs and sticks. Victoria was quickly approaching him from the side, broom in hand.

“You nearly missed the piñata!” Victoria said, shoving the broom into Arthur’s hands. “It’s the most _adorable_ Vacuoan custom, Uncle Jack did a whole show about it. You smash it, until all the candy comes out.” She said, spreading her arms as if already seeing the sweets flying across the room.

On the table itself, the piñata had clearly already been put through a terrible beating. It looked like it had originally been built as some sort of dog, or possibly a horse, and colored in with a variety of vibrant colors. By now, however, it was a dented, lumpy mess that was clearly one solid whack away from breaking apart.

“Come on, now! Hit it, hit it!” Victoria urged, prodding the remains of the piñata with her riding crop. Around her, the rest of the partygoers began to do the same, crying out for the utter and complete destruction of the papier-mâché construct.

Plastering a fake grin on his face, Arthur did as he was told. He raised the broom handle up above his head, brought it down with a mighty swing-

**_SQUISH_ **

And immediately recoiled as blood splattered against his arms and face, nearly dropping the broom in the process. He could make out the others cheering around him, but he was too focused on the bright red spots now dotting his palm.

“Is…is this…” He murmured, slowly gazing down towards the table before gasping in horror and disgust.

What had once been a piñata was no more. In its place was the brutalized corpse of a massive rat, splattered all across the wooden tabletop. The other partygoers seemed to pay no attention to the sudden shift, crowding around and shoving chunks of raw flesh into their mouths as if they were the most delectable chocolates.

It took everything Arthur had to simply dry-heave instead of losing his breakfast, doubling over as the smell of iron reached his nose.

A smacking noise caught his attention, and he turned to look at Victoria approaching, licking the drops of blood off of her fingers. “You _are_ off your Joy!” She said, looking as if she were on the verge of panic. She quickly dug into her pocket, pulling out a light red Joy pill. “Take one of mine!”

But he couldn’t. Not after what he had just seen, just _experienced._ Did none of them realize what they had just been feasting on? Did none of them notice the casual collapse of the building around them, or the disappearances of their coworkers? _Could any of them even see what was happening?_

He couldn’t speak. All he could do was inch away, trying to escape from that evil pill and the disingenuous hallucinations it brought.

Victoria continued to stare at him, her eyes quickly widening in shock and horror. “Oh my…he’s a Downer!” She cried out. “Call security!”

The rest of the partygoers responded in kind, shrieking in panic and confusion. Arthur could have sworn he saw Dierdre pass out nearby, while another worker sprinted from the room, clearly on the way to get help.

There was no time left to hide. All he could do now was run.

Spotting a door out of the corner of his eye, Arthur rushed to the side of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Then, as an afterthought, he shoved the broom through the door’s handle, keeping anyone else from coming inside.

At least, it would until the nearest Bobby made their way to the door. Against them, the wooden handle may as well have been a shoelace for all the good it would do.

Almost as soon as he thought that, something hit the exit with a tremendous **_thud_** , causing the door to violently rattle on its hinges. From back in the conference room, Arthur could already hear his former coworkers take up a new battlecry.

“ **Take your Joy! Take your Joy!”** They cried out, slamming into the door repeatedly as they did so. Had they even waited to find a Bobby, or were they planning to deal with him on their own?

“I-I need to get out of here.” Arthur said to himself, turning back to face the rest of the room. Thankfully, although it was obscured by several filing cabinets and machines stored in the room, he could make out a separate exit on the other side. With desperation and adrenalin fueling his movements, he quickly dragged his way through the improperly-placed obstacles, sending papers and tools falling onto the floor.

However, as he pulled himself through the doorway, he heard the absolute last sound he wanted to hear at that moment.

The sharp, shrill shriek of a Bobby’s whistle, from directly to his left.

Not even daring to look at them, Arthur all but threw himself to the right, rushing towards the door at the end of the hallway. Even that was too late, as he felt himself get roughly shoved through the doorway. He soon found himself tumbling, over and over until faceplanting against a cold concrete wall.

Despite this, Arthur suddenly found himself grinning, even through the sudden pain or his now-hazy vision he was experiencing.

At the bottom of the steps was a maintenance door to the Wellington Underground! He could lose the Bobbies down there, then circle back when they lost interest! Some of those tunnels might even lead to the Bridge!

With a solid plan at last, and a real chance of escape ahead of him, Arthur threw himself down the rest of the stairs with all the energy he could muster. He ignored the footsteps of the Bobbies behind him, or the shouts of his angry coworkers behind _them_.

Just a little longer, and he would be safe!

* * *

Throughout the Four Kingdoms of Remnant, Beacon Academy had long been one of the most prestigious institutions around for training new Huntsmen and Huntresses. With some of the most experienced instructors in Vale, high standards for both academic and physical pursuits, and a janitorial staff that was highly skilled at cleaning up collateral damage, it was no surprise that the halls of Beacon had seen some of the finest Huntsmen teams in the world graduate from it.

However, there was still one factor that tied the students of Beacon to the students of every other school around the world, from Huntsmen academies to civilian colleges.

_Everyone_ hated unexpected assignments.

As such, for teams RWBY and JNPR, it had been an unpleasant surprise to hear that they were being sent off to an unknown town in the furthest stretches of Vale right as they were about to enjoy the weekend. Looking the place up online had only raised further questions, with most news about the town stopping after over a decade ago.

What news they had managed to find hadn’t been very clear. After recovering from some sort of brutal and destructive attack, the town had decided to completely isolate themselves from the rest of the continent, with only the occasional trade caravan being sent out every so often.

However, as the years had gone on, even those sparse traders had eventually stopped venturing out. Anyone who had tried to enter the town since then had either been turned away or never returned, and while foul play was suspected, it had never been confirmed.

The mission instructions hadn’t been any clearer than the history of Wellington Wells, simply stating that ‘unusual activity’ had been detected near the town, and that both teams were to investigate. Stranger still, they hadn’t even been assigned a professor to oversee them. Given everything that had so recently happened at the docks, it was all fairly confusing.

As such, with limited information and their weekend plans ruined, the teams decided to spend their time in effective, responsible ways, such as searching for more recent information, looking over their equipment, and making fun of the strange town’s name.

“I mean, seriously, _Wellington Wells_? What kind of a name is that?” Yang asked in exaggerated disbelief.

“It’s not _that_ unusual of a town name.” Blake replied, leafing through a novel on her mattress. “Besides, Patch isn’t exactly a common name either.”

“Patch is a totally reasonable name for a town! It’s simple, effective, and a single word! Wellington Wells just sounds like someone got uncreative!”

Blake rolled her eyes, flipping to the next page. “You’re just upset because we can’t go to the movies this weekend.”

“Seriously, it’s been _forever_ since we’ve had a good movie night! And Kingdom of the Hidden Dragon _just_ came out!” Yang whined, slumping in her chair.

“That movie’s just going to be a bunch of people punching each other.” Blake said, raising an eyebrow.

In response, Yang simply shook her head. “None of you people appreciate true art.” She murmured, looking despairingly at the other side of the room. “Come on, guys, back me up here!”

“Come on, Yang, it won’t be that bad!” Ruby said, looking up from her scroll. “Besides, at least it’s a chance to get away from Beacon for a little while!”

“Not you too, Rubes!” Yang groaned, turning towards her last, worst hope for support. “Seriously, Weiss, how are you not complaining about…this…?”

She trailed off in defeat, watching as the heiress kept glancing between her scroll and a rapidly growing pile of handwritten notes. For some reason, Weiss had continued to look for more information on Wellington Wells long after the rest of them had given up. It was almost worrying, seeing her so invested in the fate of a nearly fallen town.

Then again, that might have just been her normal studying habits acting up, which were already unnatural enough.

“… _Soooooo_ …” Yang trailed out, inching closer to where Weiss was sitting, “Have you found anything interesting yet?” Nearby, Ruby and Blake were also looking over, hoping for something to alleviate the boredom.

Weiss looked up, staring around the room slowly until finding where Yang was standing. “No, nothing besides what we’ve found before. But…I keep thinking that I’ve heard of this town before.”

The other three members of the team blinked in surprise. “Wait, what?” Ruby asked.

“I remember my father discussing the town once or twice with some of his business contacts. I can’t recall what he wanted with the town, but I know he would get _furious_ whenever he talked about it.” Weiss said, turning back towards her scroll.

Blake frowned, closing her book. “But that doesn’t make any sense. What would someone like him want with a town like Wellington Wells?”

“That’s what I don’t understand!” Weiss said, flinging her arms in frustration. “From what little information I can find, there’s nothing there he would be interested in! No Dust veins, no transportation infrastructure, nothing! If these dates are correct, they wouldn’t even have been buying any Dust from him!”

“A town that large, not buying _any Dust at all_ from the SDC?” Blake asked, sitting upright. “But how would they even survive? Aren’t there supposed to be thousands of people living there?”

Everyone paused, considering the implications of that line of thought. Even with smaller, out of the way settlements, there was no getting around the fact that Dust was _vital_ to civilization. Without Dust, there was no power generation, no weapons production, and absolutely no way to keep the hordes of Grimm at bay. A settlement the size of Wellington Wells should have easily fallen without any Dust imports, and there were simply no other suppliers besides the SDC.

Except the city _hadn’t_ fallen. Somehow, without relying on the SDC for their continued survival, Wellington Wells had continued to exist.

“Huh,” Yang said, grinning. “Alright, this mission is starting to get interesting.”

“So they have their own Dust supply?” Ruby wondered. “But why would they try and keep that a secret?”

Weiss laughed bitterly. “The second they try to sell _any_ Dust outside their town, my father would bury them in enough lawsuits to ruin them all. As it is, I’m sure he was furious he couldn’t buy the source for himself.”

“Whatever it is, it’s probably why we’re being sent there.” Yang shrugged. “Just like the last time. Beat up the bad guys, get the Dust, and save the day! It’s easy!”

Weiss grimaced slightly, although she didn’t know exactly why. The others seemed to be more excited than ever about the mission, but the more she tried to think about Wellington Wells, the more uncertain she felt. After all, _something_ in that town had managed to withstand the wrath of _Jacques Schnee_.

For that reason alone, Weiss doubted Wellington Wells would be quite as simple as the rest of them believed.


	3. Wellington Under

The library of Beacon Academy was a vast, impressive hall, befitting of a place of learning and culture. Hundreds of shelves lined the cavernous room, filled with countless volumes of information on a wide variety of subjects, including the anatomy and physiology of different species of Grimm, practical tips and illustrated guides for wilderness survival, and numerous different combat and non-combat applications of Dust.

However, the library was far more than just a simple repository for textbooks. Beacon’s library also acted as a useful location for planning and strategizing, with computers for finding more up-to-date data and articles online, whiteboards for creating detailed plans and sketches, and dedicated librarians and assistants to help students find information on any topics not covered by the books they had in stock.

Unfortunately, much to the growing dismay of team JNPR, even the most well-equipped library cannot provide accurate information on every subject.

Websites about the town often only had information from up to two decades ago, and tended to be pitifully scarce on details even then. Textbooks about the region were seemingly all out of stock, despite the fact that Wellington Wells was both practically unheard of and located in one of the least-traversed regions in all of Sanus. Even the librarians had been unable to help, with most having never heard of the town before.

Still, despite this, they had found some luck in their hunt for information. While there were no recent maps of the town, they had managed to find several dated versions that displayed the general outline of the town and the islands it stood upon.

Overall, the town appeared to be made up of ten separate islands, each with varying degrees of inhabitation, infrastructure, and available land. As most of their coastlines were made up of steep, massive cliffs, the only means of travel between them were a series of massive bridges connecting each of these separate areas to each other, although certain islands had a greater number of connections than others. The final result was an odd, interconnected jumble of several different clusters of landmasses divided into a handful of vague ‘Districts’.

“Huh. I’ve never heard of a town that’s been formed like this before.” Pyrrha said, trying to make sense of the most up-to-date map they had found. “I wonder why they decided to set this place up on islands like these?”

“Well…those bridges look like they would make good chokepoints against any Grimm attacks from the mainland. If the attacks got too bad, they’d also be able to collapse them as a last resort.” Jaune replied, pointing at several spots on the online chart. The bridges shown on the map were each fairly long, with the smallest one running for nearly four hundred yards between two of the islands.

“I guess that’s fair. But why make the layout of the town the way it is? I mean, it looks like they’ve got most of their important buildings and infrastructure set up right next to the Brie…Bretonnia…the Bridge.” Pyrrha mumbled, rubbing her shoulder awkwardly. “That could be risky if the Grimm ever made it past their defenses.”

“It’s called the Britannia Bridge…I think. And…I’m not really sure why they built the town up that way.” Jaune shrugged. “It could just be that they wanted to build up from the closest point to the mainland. The map does say that this bridge was mostly meant for trains to cross over.”

“But that still doesn’t make any sense. Look here,” Pyrrha said, pointing towards one of the islands on the edge of the map. “According to this, they’ve put the town’s train station all the way out here, on whatever this island is supposed to be. Why put it so far back if this is their main way out to the mainland?”

The train station for Wellington Wells, rather than being located in the heavily built-up ‘Parade District’ on Apple Holm, was instead located on Eel’s Pie Holm, one of the furthest islands from mainland Sanus and the Britannia Bridge. It was a seemingly nonsensical choice, seeing as how the rest of the island was mostly made up of scattered suburbs and parks instead of the industrial zones and residential areas closer to the Parade District or Hamlyn Village.

“I suppose it could just have to do with the amount of space they had to build on. We can just ask someone about it when we get there…although that does still leave the question of where to land.” Pyrrha mused, looking back down at the map.

Jaune grimaced, glancing at a separate map showing the best air route to the town. Even at full speed, flying by Bullhead would still take hours to finally arrive at the town, and that was assuming the weather stayed nice and the Nevermores stayed away. All that, along with the turbulence from regular flight…

_‘Maybe it won’t be too bad. I mean, it’s not like I can be airsick the_ entire _time.’_ Jaune lied to himself, already dreading the trip ahead of them. Maybe he could ask one of the janitors for an extra bucket or two. Or three.

“Why not just go to the main island? Apple Holm, or whatever it’s called?” Jaune asked.

“It doesn’t look like they have any airdocks there, and with all these buildings, I’m not sure there’s enough space for us to land safely.” Pyrrha replied, pointing at the Parade District. Indeed, almost the entire island seemed to be covered in thick clusters of buildings, with only a handful of narrow, twisting streets allowing for passage between them.

“…Huh. Well, I guess we can fly around and just…look for landing spots when we get there. Maybe over by the train station.” Jaune said, glancing around the room. “Where did Ren and Nora go, anyways? Shouldn’t they be here for this?”

“They told me they were making ‘emergency rations’, and they wouldn’t be around until they made enough for the whole trip.” Pyrrha deadpanned.

“…How many pancakes do you think that adds up to?” Jaune wondered, thinking about Nora’s typical eating habits. Her pancake binges were both fascinating and horrifying to behold, like seeing a train plowing through a pack of Beowolves or Ruby reading about the latest weapons designs.

“Oh, hey, they’re over there!” Ruby’s voice suddenly called out, bringing Jaune out of his thoughts. Turning around, he was surprised to see both Ruby and Blake approaching their table, seemingly oblivious to the furious glare the nearby librarian was sending their way.

“Uh, hi! What are you guys doing here?” Jaune asked, waving awkwardly.

“We thought we’d see what you guys are up to! Well, at least me and Blake. Yang went off to tune up Ember Celica, and Weiss is still looking stuff up on that town we’re all going to. She seems nervous about this place for some reason.” Ruby shrugged, grabbing a seat next to Jaune and sitting down. “What about you guys? Find anything cool?”

“Just looking over some old maps. We were debating about where we should land once we get there.” Pyrrha said, turning her scroll around so they could see the chart.

“Wait, you said that Weiss was nervous about this place? Why?” Jaune asked, slightly worried. Considering how well she handled everything that happened during initiation, and her usual highly annoyed attitude towards problems and him, having her be nervous about a mission was not a good sign.

_‘Then again, it could provide the opportunity to finally impress Weiss…’_ Jaune mused, debating internally whether he preferred surviving the mission or finally getting his crush to be willing to talk to him.

“Apparently her dad mentioned this place before, and he got _really_ angry whenever he talked about it.” Ruby grinned. “We’re pretty sure that there’s a huge stockpile of Dust there, and someone’s trying to get their hands on it.”

“We’re pretty sure there’s _something_ he wants there, anyways.” Blake shrugged, frowning as she took a closer look at the map. “They haven’t been buying Dust from the SDC, so that’s what we’re assuming it is. We’re really just guessing at this point.”

“With how vague the instructions are, it’s a good enough guess. We thought we were just going to the town to help out with the local Grimm population. Well, most of us, at least.” Pyrrha sighed, shaking her head.

“Nora guessed that we’d be protecting the town from alien robots.” Jaune elaborated, noticing the confused looks on the faces of Ruby and Blake. He wasn’t surprised to see that their expressions did not change with the explanation.

“…So besides that, we’re just looking for possible landing spots and hoping that we’ll get some more information later.” Pyrrha continued, turning back towards the map. “I just hope that the layout of this town won’t have changed much in the past two decades.”

“If they’ve been cut off from the rest of the world for that long, I doubt they would have changed much. I mean, it’s not like they’ve got to worry about tourists, or trade, or anything like that…does the CCT network even reach out that far?” Blake asked.

“Hopefully it does. I mean, it’s not like Ozpin would send us on a mission like this when we can’t even call for help once we get there, right?” Jaune nervously chuckled.

The telling silence of his friends and teammate did little to bolster his confidence.

* * *

The Wellington Underground, despite what one might believe, was far more than simply a series of maintenance tunnels.

The Underground composed the subterranean heart of Wellington Wells, made up of abandoned subway lines, countless miles of pipework and wiring, innumerable storage bunkers, and a handful of hidden lairs. Used by Wellies and wastrels alike, it had a reputation for being a winding, never-ending mess of dimly lit, damp corridors, where all but the most prepared would get lost.

As Arthur slowly regained consciousness, nursing a horrifically painful lump on his forehead, he started to realize that the Underground’s reputation was more than pure hyperbole.

“ _Urgh_ …where…am I?” Arthur asked himself, slowly trying to sit back up. The area was difficult to make out, with only a handful of emergency lights and the glow of a nearby motilene pipe to help him see. Thick, rusting metal plates completely covered what sections of the walls he could see, and the floor was made of featureless concrete. Even the air seemed to be gloomy, with a light haze filling the area.

A haze in the air?

_“Do you smell gas?”_

_“Flamin’ Nora!”_

_“Forget him, there’s no time!”_

And like a switch had been flicked, Arthur remembered how he got there. The Bobbies, far from intimidated at the Underground’s labyrinthine nature, had followed him! Those bastards had chased him practically to the other side of Wellington Wells!

Then they’d finally gotten to a locked maintenance door, and what did the Bobbies do when Arthur simply tried to defend himself? They’d clobbered him with their batons and kicked him in the face until he blacked out!

All of that, and they’d left him there to rot because of a bloody _gas leak?_

“Terribly thoughtful of them.” Arthur moaned, getting to his feet. As much as he wanted to remain where he was until the pain went away, he couldn’t afford to stay still. The Bobbies might come back with gas masks! Well…if they even remembered him after they’d left.

Besides, if that really _was_ gas that they had smelled, he’d need to get out of the tunnel and to the surface as quickly as possible. It would hardly be fair if he suffocated to death before even getting to _try_ and escape.

Thankfully, for once that day, his luck held out. Just down the tunnel, he could make out a side path leading off to another maintenance room. Even better, there was a motilene distributor right there, with a convenient location sign on it!

It was a shame the location listed was anything but convenient.

“Barrow Holm?” Arthur said, feeling despair creep into him once more. “They chased me all the way to the _Garden District?_ But…oh dear.”

The Garden District was the area of Wellington Wells that no upstanding Wellie ever talked about, if at all possible. Far off on the islands of Barrow Holm, Eel’s Pie Holm, Ravensholm, and Lud’s Holm, the entire district was seen as a dumping ground for wastrels, Downers, and all other manner of nasty problems that most Wellies simply wanted to ignore. No one ever left, and the only ones that entered were those that no one would miss.

The only positive thing about the entire District was that it was supposedly still safe from the Grimm, thanks to the city’s automated defense systems and the Home Guard running regular patrols around the islands. Given everything that Arthur had witnessed since he’d went off his Joy, he wasn’t so sure about how accurate those claims were anymore.

And now he was on the wrong side of the security checkpoints, with no way to sneak back inside.

“Brilliant. Just…brilliant.” Arthur sighed. “I’ve been found out, I’m trapped on the furthest island from the mainland, and my skull feels like it’s about to fall apart.”

He shook his head, trying to sweep those uncheerful thoughts away. After all, he was stuck in this situation no matter what he did. All he could do was keep moving forwards. If not for himself, then for Percy.

“I suppose it’s not like things could get much worse.” He said to himself, stepping into the maintenance room. “And they were wrong about the piñata. Maybe they were wrong about how bad the Garden…District…”

Arthur trailed off, pausing as yet another horrible sight came into his vision. Just a few feet ahead of him, battered and crumpled in the middle of the floor, was the dead body of what appeared to be a maintenance worker. His dark blue uniform was covered in large patches of brownish-red, with a sizeable trail of blood stretching across the linoleum tiles and back towards an imposing metal door on the other side of the room.

_‘Not even five minutes in, and my hopes have already been dashed.’_ Arthur cynically thought, resisting the urge to scream in panic and frustration.

Silently, Arthur considered his choices. On the one hand, if he tried to go back down the maintenance tunnel, there was a considerable chance he would run into the Bobbies again, or other maintenance workers. That was even assuming that they’d left the rest of the tunnels back to the Parade open, instead of just locking them up behind them.

On the other hand, there was a rather too high chance that the person who murdered the worker was still around. It was quite likely that, should he follow the blood trail, the murderer would be waiting at the end of it.

To make matters worse, as Arthur glanced around the room, he noticed another sign near the other door in the room, proclaiming that the maintenance hatch to the surface was directly behind the entryway the blood trail led towards.

“…My life has come to this. This is actually a choice I’m being forced to take. _Lovely_.” Arthur murmured bitterly, walking towards what he hoped wouldn’t be certain death and doom. Slowly and cautiously, he reached out, gingerly pulled on the handle-

“WE’VE COME TO THE END OF OUR TIME!”

And leaped back in panic as the door slammed open, revealing a disheveled, filthy man in a boiler suit and a cracked white mask. Snarling ferally, the man leveled an animalistic glare at Arthur as he rapidly closed the distance between them.

This wasn’t good. The last time Arthur had been in a fight had been back when he was in school, and that had been decades ago. There hadn’t been any _need_ to get into scraps or tussles since then, with the Bobbies patrolling everywhere and Joy keeping people from being confrontational!

“Uh, h-hello there! A-are you alright?” Arthur stuttered out, hoping desperately that the man would be willing to calm down. The only response he received was a vicious right hook, which Arthur only barely managed to keep from impacting his forehead.

Beginning to panic, Arthur’s eyes quickly swept the room for anything he could use to defend himself. Surely there must be a brick, or a loose pipe, or-

His eyes fell onto the sole object within grabbing distance, leaning against a nearby table. It seemed that someone had left an umbrella down here the last time they had visited, and never came back to retrieve it.

Desperately, Arthur reached out, grabbing the umbrella and bringing it in front of him just as the stranger came about with another punch. The man’s fist connected with the steel handle of the tool with a solid _crunch_ , causing him to howl in unrestrained agony as he clutched his hand. This moment of distraction was quickly interrupted by the umbrella’s handle swinging into the murderer’s skull, sending him falling limply to the floor.

Arthur took the moment to catch his breath, staring at the new body on the ground and contemplating what he had just done. Had he just killed that person? Was _he_ a murderer now too? Or was it alright to murder a murderer? Would anyone care about it, or would someone find out and judge him for it? Would he have to do it _again_ -

A strange noise brought him out of his rapidly-spiraling thoughts. Taking a closer look, he noticed that the stranger was simply moaning in pain as he slowly curled up on the floor. He…wasn’t _well_ , per se, but he was alive.

That remained to be seen if that was a good thing.

Arthur shook his head, trying to banish those dark ideas from his head. He _wasn’t_ a murderer, no matter how desperate his situation currently was. If he did resort to that, and Percy ever found out…

“…Wait. Percy…the trains…the Train Station is near here, isn’t it?” Arthur wondered, a new plan rapidly forming in his mind. “If I could just make it to there, then I could just follow the old rail tunnels all the way to the Bridge! I wouldn’t even have to face any more wastrels, or Bobbies, or whatever else they haven’t told us about over here!”

Sporting a small smile for the first time since he left the Parade, Arthur walked past the pair of bodies, making his way towards the ladder to the surface. Having a fresh plan certainly did wonders for his attitude.

After all, _any_ plan was better than trying to fight through the entirety of Wellington Wells with only an umbrella and two decades worth of guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Maldevinine for beta-ing this chapter!


	4. Little Red Riding Hood

The plan had run into some snags.

Well-armed, unfriendly, wastrel-related snags.

Yes, the Train Station would be a lovely place to get to, wouldn’t it? It certainly _sounded_ like a lovely place, with its nice, safe, clear-of-debris tunnels out of the city, and the lack of Bobbies, Doctors, Spankers, or other nasty surprises nearby. It would make a beautiful last stop on his one-way trip out of Wellington Wells.

But then came the problem that the bridge between Barrow Holm and Eel Pie Holm was locked shut, as the security gate was completely immovable without a power cell. Because of _course_ the motilene pipes that quite clearly led to the island wouldn’t power the security gates to the island’s only bridge.

…Where was the motilene being sent to, anyways? The only electrical devices that were running on this island were some radios and a handful of still-functioning streetlights. Surely they didn’t need an entire pipeline of motilene to keep _those_ running!

And then came the Headboys, and their fortified bunker, and the arena, and good old Danny Defoe with his lead pipe and hypocritical accusations. Really, it was his fault that he had gotten fired from the O Courant in the first place. Plagiarizing news articles is a serious crime! Besides, it wasn’t like Arthur _knew_ Danny would end up driven out of the Village when he reported it!

Of course, the Headboys didn’t like their ‘champion arena fighter’ getting knocked about with an umbrella, did they? Instead of simply letting him go, like _civilized human beings_ , they’d dropped him in a pit to starve! He’d had to sneak his way through that entire bunker by himself! All to get some old medals for an old man, who _just so happened_ to have the _only_ filled power cell on the whole damned island!

But _noooo_ , that hadn’t been enough for today. When he’d tried to meet up with the old man after escaping, he’d been chased halfway around the island by an angry mob of wastrels! All because his clothes were _too new_ for their tastes! They had been holiday presents from his uncle, too! At least, they had been before he’d been forced to tear them up into tattered rags.

The entire journey to the Train Station should only have taken half an hour from the maintenance bunker. Instead, it had taken over _seven hours_ simply to get onto the bridge, let alone get to the Station.

It had been a pleasantly sunny day when he’d first gotten out of that maintenance room, with clear skies and an admittedly nice view along the coastlines. Now it was practically pitch-black outside, with only the stars and the shattered moon offering any light. It was cold, and miserable, and most certainly _not_ a lovely day for it.

_grrrrrwllll_

Clutching his rumbling stomach, Arthur couldn’t help but focus on how hungry he was. It felt like it’d been days since he’d eaten properly, and there didn’t seem to be much in the way of sustenance on Barrow Holm. The wastrels had practically been walking sacks of bone and skin, and the Headboys were only somewhat better in that regard. That didn’t make the weapons they wielded any less intimidating, but it did put a rather gloomy outlook on the situation.

After all, if the locals couldn’t find enough food to keep themselves fed, what luck did he have?

“But we don’t need to worry about that, do we, Arthur?” Arthur murmured to himself, taking care to avoid the chunks of concrete and other debris along the way. “Because you’ll be out of the city in no time at all, and there’ll be plenty of food waiting for you just across the Bridge. The Train Station’s right ahead, just past…the…”

Just past the wrought-iron archway in front of him.

The same wrought-iron archway where they’d hanged the ‘traitors’, all those long years ago.

_Three figures swing slightly in the breeze, only a few inches apart from each other. Their clothes are frayed and torn, and bloody wounds cover what sections of skin are visible. Wooden signs are strapped on each of their chests, the word ‘Traitor!’ proudly emblazoned in black ink._

They had broken into the police station, nearly stealing the register of the town’s children. Supposedly they had wanted to burn it, keeping the occupation authorities from knowing which kids to take.

And in response, the townspeople themselves had killed them. They were strung up along the iron archway for days, only being cut down the day before the children were set to leave. All in the hope of appeasing their occupiers and sending a message to other civilians who had thoughts about fighting back.

_The nearby townspeople look on, with most appearing stone-faced and impassive. A handful seem to be on the brink of tears, while a few others glare at the corpses with fury._

…Would things be different if they had fought to protect the children, instead of willingly leading them to the station? Would people still be popping their Joy if the regret wasn’t there? Would there even _be_ a Wellington Wells left if they had tried to fight back?

Despite not having eaten all day, a sudden burst of nausea struck Arthur. Doubling over, he rushed to the side of the bridge, heaving onto the rocky outcroppings below. He wasn’t sure there was anything he _could_ throw up, but he remained by the railing, retching until the feeling of queasiness finally left him.

Slumping down against the wooden railing, Arthur sighed. First Percy, and now the hangings. Memories continued to trickle back into his head, now that the Joy was leaving his system and he was back in the old neighborhood.

“…This is going to be even worse at the Train Station, isn’t it?” Arthur moaned, rubbing his head. “I’m sure the memories there will be just _splendid_.”

Still, it was somewhat refreshing to be able to dwell on the past, even in a limited fashion. Back in the Parade, he’d barely been able to remember what had happened a few hours before the most recent stop to a Joy Booth. Everything beyond that point had simply faded away into a pleasant, warm, drug-induced haze.

Now, with his head clearing up, he had no such trouble remembering. It was just a shame that the bad memories seemed to be the ones to come back first.

 _‘If only the past wasn’t so horribly, painfully unpleasant.’_ Arthur thought. _‘Then again, if that were the case, I wouldn’t need to skip town, would I?’_

Sighing once more, Arthur slowly got onto his feet, swaying slightly. He wasn’t entirely certain how he was still standing, after hours of running, and climbing, and fighting, and more running. The years of cushy desk work in the Parade, while extremely comfortable, certainly hadn’t helped much with his endurance.

“Well, there’s got to be a place to lie down nearby. Maybe in the station.” Arthur said, yawning. There had certainly been enough beds left in the ruined hamlets and homes behind him to sleep on, and there were bound to be more ahead. One more night in Wellington Wells wouldn’t kill him. Probably. Possibly.

Shaking his head, Arthur leaned against the railing, staring out towards the ocean. It was strange, looking out at the expanse beyond the city without hearing the noise and hustle of the Parade around. It had always been so busy there, with people running to and fro, greeting each other, heading to work, and listening to the constant broadcasts of Uncle Jack.

Out here, practically in the wilderness, there was only the sound of the waves crashing against the rocky shoals so very far below his feet.

It was peaceful, in an odd way. There was no one looking at him, making sure he fit in, keeping track of every little thing he was doing. The Wellies and wastrels seemed a world away, stuck in their ivory towers and collapsing hovels. There was no Victoria Byng, or Clive Birtwhistle, or Danny Defoe.

The past was closer than ever, and yet the only one around to judge him was himself.

_‘And I’m sure the final verdict will be grand, won’t it?’_

Taking one last look at the stars, Arthur finally turned around, slowly walking towards the Train Station. One last stroll through memory lane, and he’d finally be free from this horrible place.

Unnoticed by Arthur, one of those stars moved slightly, gradually growing larger and larger.

* * *

“Hey, guys! I’m seeing lights up ahead! I think it might be the place we’re looking for!”

Pyrrha breathed a sigh of relief at Ruby’s announcement. While traveling by airship was certainly a good way to save time while traveling, there was only so much that could be withstood on an hours-long trip in a flying metal box. She’d lost count of the number of theories about the mission that Nora had come up with after the first hour, or how many times Jaune had tried to stave off his… _condition_.

It hadn’t helped that the CCT signal had, as expected, been growing weaker and weaker as the trip went on. The signal had finally cut out about two hours ago, and unless Wellington Wells had a support tower for the network, they wouldn’t be able to call back to Beacon anytime soon.

All of which had left them with nothing to do for the nearly eight-hour flight besides sleeping, looking out the windows, reading, or trying to ignore Jaune’s less than pleasant state. The number of buckets he had brought along definitely didn’t help with that last job.

Standing up, Pyrrha moved over to one of the Bullhead’s windows, joining Ruby and Yang. Indeed, off in the distance, many miles away, clusters of lights had started to appear along the coastline.

“I dunno, Rubes, it’s kinda hard to tell from this distance.” Yang said, rolling her shoulders. “It would be nice if we could finally touch down, though.”

“Actually, I think she’s right.” Pyrrha said. “According to the flight plan, we should be reaching Wellington Wells about now. It could be the islands.”

“Are you sure? There aren’t that many lights down there. Wasn’t this place supposed to be pretty big for a town on the frontier?” Yang asked, raising an eyebrow.

As the Bullhead continued to draw nearer to the settlement, Pyrrha realized what Yang meant. If the town ahead was supposed to be Wellington Wells, it appeared far smaller than the maps had indicated. Most of the lights were only concentrated around four different clusters, with only a handful of lights coming from other areas in the town.

 _‘Did we arrive too late? What happened to the other islands?’_ Pyrrha wondered, frowning.

Granted, it wasn’t that much of a surprise that the skyline was different that what they had anticipated. The maps they had used for reference _were_ older than every person in the Bullhead besides the pilot.

But that didn’t change that, for whatever reason, the lights on _six_ of the islands weren’t on at night.

“Wait…what is this?” Weiss murmured, breaking Pyrrha out of her thoughts. Turning to look at her, Pyrrha saw that Weiss was staring confusedly at her scroll, poking around at some unseen app. A second later, her eyes opened wide, eyebrows raised in shock.

“What’s going on?” Blake asked, shifting closer towards Weiss.

“I managed to pick up a signal, but…it’s not from the main CCT network. It’s some sort of local broadcast, and…I don’t even know what this is supposed to be.” Weiss muttered. As she said this, the other occupants of the Bullhead either clustered around her or pulled out their own scrolls to see what Weiss was talking about. Even Jaune managed to overcome his airsickness for long enough to bring out his own scroll.

Glancing over Weiss’s shoulder, Pyrrha tried to get a good look at the video on the screen-

And blinked. Looked closer. Blinked again.

_‘…What the hell?’_

The broadcast, which was being filmed in black and white for some reason, was focused on a single man sitting behind a small desk. Dressed in some sort of bathrobe or nightgown, he looked completely at home, reading out of a massive book in his hands with a serene smile on his face.

Unfortunately, the incredibly creepy, bizarre white mask the man wore ruined whatever calming effect he might have been going for.

It wasn’t like the thick masks that members of the White Fang wore, where they were usually stylized after the armored faceplates of the Grimm. This man’s mask was incredibly thin, to the point where she wasn’t entirely certain that they hadn’t painted it on. It looked like a blank human face save for the lips, which stretched out into a horrifyingly wide smile even as the man continued to talk.

 _“…And he reaches Little Red Riding Hood’s house, long before Little Red Riding Hood was even within shouting distance, and while the sun was still high in the sky.”_ The strange man stated in a smooth voice, calmly flipping his book over to the next page.

“Who _is_ this guy? And…is he reading fairy tales?” Blake asked, staring at Weiss’s scroll over her other shoulder.

“I don’t know.” Weiss shrugged. “My scroll just got a notification that the ‘WWBC’ was in range, whatever that is. I opened it up, and it just showed…well, _this_.”

“Maybe it’s just a kid’s show? I mean, if he’s just reading stories, then…it could just be an act?” Blake asked uncertainly.

Pyrrha wanted to interject, to say that someone with that mask should never be let onto a show for children. However, as she caught what the man was saying, she paused.

 _“-And the Wolf quickly cut her throat, and poured her blood into a bottle.”_ The strange man paused, frowning at the screen exaggeratedly before continuing. _“He ate most of her, but saved some of the juiciest cuts. Those he sliced onto a platter, for he was_ very _good with a knife.”_ He paused again, this time smiling gleefully at the camera.

“…Yeah, no, that’s just creepy.” Blake murmured, still staring at the screen. Glancing around the rest of the Bullhead, Pyrrha noticed that the others were all staring at different scrolls, their expressions fixed in either confusion or concern.

The rest of the broadcast didn’t help with either of those feelings.

 _“…And so Little Red Riding Hood…_ drank _her mother’s blood…”_

_“…So Little Red Riding Hood made a ham sandwich out of her mother’s ham…and she ate it right up!”_

_“‘Take off your clothes, and…get in the bed with me.’ Said the Wolf.”_

The story just kept going on and on, getting creepier and creepier with each page the strange man turned to. Even as it got worse, the broadcaster, far from appearing uneasy at the story’s contents, almost seemed to delight in the disturbing way the tale played out, with his grin growing slightly larger with each sentence.

Pyrrha vaguely remembered the story of Little Red Riding Hood, back before she had started training at Sanctum. The version she had been told was of a young girl being stalked through the woods by a particularly clever Beowolf on the way to her grandmother’s house. Although she had nearly been tricked, a passing Huntsman heard her cries for help and killed the Grimm, saving her and her grandmother.

It definitely did _not_ involve cannibalism, or murder, or the Beowolf actually succeeding in eating the young girl and the grandmother.

 _“…And I’m afraid we’ve come to the end of our time.”_ The strange man finally said, softly closing the book. _“Tune in tomorrow for another bedtime story. Good night all. I’ll see you soon.”_ He finished, staring directly at the camera with a small smile. A small jingle played out, and the video finally turned off.

Blinking several times in confusion, Pyrrha looked towards the others. Jaune’s face had gone worryingly pale, and he looked like he was on the verge of passing out. Ren was staring at the blank screen of his scroll with a small frown, while even Nora had lost her normal cheerfulness. Weiss was staring at her screen with a much larger frown, Blake looked like she was trying to think about something, and Ruby and Yang were glancing between their scrolls and each other in alarm.

“…Wasn’t that the story we used for that play a few weeks ago?” Blake asked, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.

“ _That’s_ what you got out of that?”“ _Now_ you finally care about that?” Weiss and Ruby shouted simultaneously, each sending glares towards Blake.

“W-what was that show even supposed to be?” Jaune blurted out, shuddering. “Who reads something like that as a _bedtime story_?!”

“I guess it could’ve been a prank, or an art project, or something. Wasn’t there some viral video series a few months ago that was like this?” Ren asked.

“If that was the case, wouldn’t we be picking up another channel, or signal, or something? This ‘WWBC’ is the only station I’m able to access out here.” Weiss said, frowning at her scroll once more. “I can’t even pick up VNN anymore.”

“Well, if the flight plan’s right, it probably came from Wellington Wells. If it’s a local station, we could just ask about it once we get down there.” Pyrrha interjected, trying to get the others to calm down. Having everyone riled up and on edge before they even got to the town would only make things worse, especially when eight Huntsmen-in-training were involved.

Pyrrha sighed, taking another glance outside the window. Even with the dim light outside, she could start to make out the different islands getting closer. The well-lit islands were fairly easy to look over, showing thick clusters of houses centered away from the coastlines of the islands. On the other islands, all that she could make out were the outlines of some of the larger buildings, like a mansion, what appeared to be a military outpost, and-

_booom_

The train station that they were hoping to land near, which was currently being rocked by an explosion.

_‘Wow, that was a lot faster than I expected.’_

“Guys? Something’s happening at where we wanted to land. I think they’re trying to blow up the train station.” Pyrrha said, turning towards the others.

“Wait, already? We _just_ got here!” Jaune cried.

“Come on, Jaunnie-boy, it’ll be fun!” Yang shouted, moving towards the Bullhead’s exit. “Besides, that just means we’ll get out of the air sooner!”

Jaune groaned but got out of his seat regardless. The others moved with more enthusiasm, quickly gathering their weapons and what gear they needed for a rapid insertion. After spending hours in the air, Pyrrha could almost feel their anticipation of finally leaving the aircraft and getting some actual answers.

Gripping Miló and Akoúo̱ tightly, Pyrrha couldn’t help but agree with those sentiments.

* * *

“Are you _certain_ , Sergeant?”

“A-absolutely, sir! A single aircraft on approach, headed towards the Train Station!”

General Byng groaned, pacing back and forth across his office. This wasn’t what he needed. This wasn’t what _anyone_ needed at the moment.

Aircraft, flying into Wellington Wells for the first time in two decades, in the midst of all the other problems currently gripping the town. At _best_ , it was a handful of meddlesome outsiders trying to take a vacation to the islands. But then there were worse possibilities, like the Atlesians, or the Schnees, or… _them_.

The town, and subsequently Byng, would not survive another occupation. The first one had already nearly caused Wellington Wells to fall apart, and the situation had only grown more dire since then.

That left only one option available to him.

“Sergeant, gather three squads together and prepare to move out at dawn. Figure out who’s landing on the island. Capture them if possible, but no matter what, make sure they _do not_ escape. You are not to tell _anyone_ outside of this room about the aircraft until you leave the base. Is that understood?” Byng asked, sending the most authoritative stare he could muster at the hapless soldier. The man quickly stammered out a ‘yes’, before hastily saluting and retreating from the building.

Unfortunately, it was unlikely that the men would succeed in their duty. Even with thirty soldiers moving out to meet the enemy, all they had to deal with the newcomers were their bayonets and their grenades. An excellent force for dealing with wastrels and plague victims, but not much else.

 _‘Good thing I still have some other strings to pull,_ ’ he mused, moving over towards his telephone. Even if his men failed to capture or eliminate the newcomers, the damage could be mitigated if they could be contained on the island. The aircraft was the biggest problem out of the lot.

Thankfully, he had just the means of dealing with _that_ particular issue.

 _‘With how long it’s taken him to build, the damn cannon had better be ready,’_ he thought, quickly dialing the number for Richard Arkwright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Maldevinine for beta-ing this chapter!


	5. Unto the Breach

The Train Station wasn’t quite the majestic, comforting sight that Arthur had been hoping for.

From his fragmented memories of the place, the Train Station had once been a rather enchanting structure. Grand glass windows had easily lit up the checkered tile floors and smooth wooden arches, making it seem more like a church or a castle than a place of transit. Back before the occupation, countless people had made their way to and from the Station every day, heading to work on the other islands or simply leaving town for whatever reason.

He wasn’t naïve enough to think that it would remain completely like that, of course. Twenty years of abandonment and neglect would have left their mark on the Train Station in the same ways as the rest of the buildings in the Garden District. As such, the partially collapsed roof, structurally unsound scaffolding, and massive piles of rubble present around the building did not surprise him.

However, he hadn’t expected that a large group of Headboys would have gathered around outside of the Train Station. He hadn’t expected some mad old wastrel to have made his home inside, taunting the gang members and chucking empty bottles from the roof.

And he certainly hadn’t expected the Headboys to retaliate by using _entire barrels of explosives_ against the building.

_‘Where did they even_ get _all those explosives from?! Didn’t we use up all the Dust years ago?!’_ Arthur thought wildly, staring at the freshly made hole in the Train Station’s side. Mere moments ago, three Headboys had been furiously dragging an explosive barrel to the spot. Now there was nothing left of them but smoke and crumbling masonry. Considering the sheer size of the bomb they had used, it was a miracle the explosion hadn’t taken out the entire building.

Not like that had fazed the _other_ Headboys much. About ten of them had already rushed their way through the gap, with another intimidatingly large group milling about outside. It was an unusual show of force, especially for a situation like this. Even _if_ that wastrel had some food stored inside, surely it wasn’t enough to warrant this kind of a reaction?

_‘…How did the Headboys even get over here? Wasn’t the bridge shut down before? Or…oh, Gods, are they already set up in the rest of the District?’_

A passing Headboy brought Arthur out of his thoughts, walking just in front of the bushes he was cowering within. All Arthur could make out was a mumbled ‘delicious V-Meat’ before the wastrel moved along, heading towards a hole in the nearby fence. Glancing back at the building, Arthur noticed that the other Headboys were all looking away from the Station, out towards the surrounding buildings and trees.

It was the best opportunity he’d get to head inside, as terrifying a thought as that was. It wasn’t like he could escape with them watching the exits, at any rate.

Nervously swallowing, Arthur slowly shuffled himself forwards. Doing his best to keep from making noise, he gradually made his way across the overgrown grass and strewn debris towards the impromptu entrance.

On the plus side, the lack of light was working out in his favor. The headlamps the Headboys were using, seemingly part of the repurposed Bobby helmets each of them was sporting, were all directed away from the building, leaving the yard incredibly dim. If any passing gang member had thought to look about the entrance, he’d hopefully be able to escape notice in the shadows.

Soon enough, he had managed to slip inside the building, quickly ducking behind a damaged wooden bench. Peeking out from behind his newfound cover, Arthur looked around the room, searching for where the rest of the Headboys had wandered off to.

They turned out to be much closer than he had hoped. Three of them were clustered together in the center of the main hall, pointing their lights around the building and arguing amongst themselves about something or other. Another two were wandering about the old ticket booths near the original entrance, knocking over cash registers and old stacks of paper as they searched for supplies. Another one was clawing at an old wooden supply crate, pulling against the wooden planks animatedly with a jimmy bar.

_‘Which means there’s about four of them to go. They must have wandered off further inside.’_ Arthur thought, ducking back behind the bench. _‘But that still leaves me with these ones here. How am I supposed to get past them?’_

Arthur wracked his mind, desperately trying to come up with a solution that wouldn’t leave him a bloodied, bruised mess on the floor. With how many of them there were and how exhausted he was, fighting them would only be a painful means of suicide. Trying to sprint for the rail tunnels would have the same result, besides the fact that he’d be even more tired when he inevitably died.

Sneaking by was probably the best choice, but there weren’t many options to do so. The largest group of Headboys had positioned themselves in such a way that they had an excellent view of most of the room. There was still some cover to hide behind, mostly in the form of scattered crates and tables, but it was much more spaced out than outside.

Maybe there was some way to distract them? After all, there were plenty of scattered bricks and pieces of wood tossed about the place. If he tossed one of them through one of the windows nearby, that’d be sure to create plenty of noise. With the Headboys distracted, he’d be able to slink right behind them and down to the main platform…

But then the Headboys would also be more alert, thinking that some unscrupulous person could be lurking around them at any moment. If he wasn’t careful, trying to distract them might only make them even _more_ observant of their surroundings instead.

Taking a deep breath, Arthur tried to calm himself down. It wouldn’t do to panic in a situation like this. The Headboys hadn’t found him yet, with them all busy searching for that other poor sod, and there wasn’t a ticking clock hanging over his head. He had time to think through his options.

“Oi, lads! Get back out here! There’s something big headed this way!”

A sudden shout from outside caught Arthur’s attention. Taking a quick peek around the bench, he noticed that the other Headboys had heard it as well. The band of hooligans pulled out their weapons, mostly a mixed and motley collection of scavenged tools, and hurriedly made their way outside.

Soon enough, Arthur found himself completely alone inside the building.

_‘That was surprisingly convenient. Maybe some other poor sods had the same idea as me?’_ Arthur wondered, staring at the Station’s impromptu entrance in confusion and relief.

Either way, it wouldn’t do for him to stick around and find out. The Headboys would come back as soon as they finished dealing with whatever was going on outside, and he intended to be _long_ gone before that happened.

For now, all he needed was to find the way down to the platform.

* * *

_“Attention, teams! We’re approaching the target area now! Make sure you’re ready to jump!”_

“Yes, sir, Mr. Pilot, sir!” Ruby shouted enthusiastically, jumping out of her seat. Hefting Crescent Rose in her arms, she quickly made her way over towards one of the side hatches of the aircraft.

She knew that she probably shouldn’t be this excited to get out of the Bullhead, but she couldn’t help it! They were finally about to start their first mission together!

Well, unless you counted the class trip to Forever Falls. Or fighting the White Fang by the docks.

But those totally didn’t count, so it was _fine!_

Besides, with team JNPR along for the ride with them, it would be even better! Pyrrha was already leaning by the aircraft hatch with her weapons in hand, Nora was dragging Ren along towards the exit with her, and Jaune looked about as excited to get on the ground as she felt!

That _might_ have just been because of the whole airsickness thing, but still!

Looking out the nearest window, Ruby watched as the train station slowly grew larger and larger. As they got closer, she started to make out more details of the area nearby. Several clearly abandoned houses surrounded the station, edging up against what appeared to be a chain link fence. The only sources of light she could make out were a few scattered flashlights, with nearly all of them pointing towards their Bullhead.

_‘I guess they’ve noticed us. Well, hopefully there aren’t that many of them!’_ Ruby thought, thinking back to their previous encounters with criminal organizations. Seriously, how did people like Torchwick even afford that many goons anyways? Crime couldn’t pay _that_ much, could it?

… _could_ it?

“So, guys? Any thoughts about how to do this?” Blake asked, inadvertently breaking Ruby’s thoughts from the financial viability of criminality.

“I think we should probably land outside the fence. We don’t know what’s going on at the station, or if they have more bombs with them.” Jaune said, carefully making his way towards them. “And considering how run-down the buildings around here look, landing on the roof doesn’t really seem like a great option. We can touch down near some of those old houses, head up to these people on foot, and see what’s going on.”

Nora grinned, pulling open the hatch. “Sounds good to me! Let’s get going!”

“W-wait, we don’t have to jump right...” Jaune paused, watching as Nora took the initiative to leap out of the Bullhead.

“Well, you heard the lady. Time to bail!” Yang cheered, leaping out next.

“Wait for me!” Ruby cheered, following after her. Throwing herself out of the aircraft, Ruby smiled wildly as she began to plummet towards the ground. The rush of air from free-falling always felt so _exciting_!

Sadly, the drop only lasted a few seconds. Readying her Aura, Ruby quickly repositioned herself, ducking into a roll as she struck the ground. Straightening up, she watched as the rest of her teammates landed with varying degrees of flair and enthusiasm.

“Over here! They jumped down ‘round here!” A rough, angry voice called out from nearby.

Ruby turned around at the shout, taking her first look at the suspected bombers. She had expected to see some bandits or White Fang members to charge at them if the situation was hostile. If it was under control, then she expected there to be civilians, police officers, or militia members nearby.

A crowd of scruffy, dirty, stereotypical old-school bikers rushing to meet them was definitely not on the list of people she was expecting to encounter.

They all looked like they were part of a biker gang, at least. The studded leather jackets, old leather boots, dented metal helmets, and ripped blue jeans that they were all wearing definitely gave off that kind of impression. Unfortunately for them, they all seemed like they were a little too skinny to actually make it intimidating.

And then there were the ‘weapons’ they had.

They were, to put it bluntly, some of the least-impressive weapons that Ruby had ever seen, ranging from rusty shovels and wooden bats to _a rock taped to a stick._ The rock wasn’t even well-secured! That duct tape was clearly coming loose!

The mere sight of a weapon that poorly made was giving her the urge to go over to that goon and give him an actual gun, just so she wouldn’t have to look at that shameful creation anymore.

_‘…Wait a second, they don’t even_ have _any guns! Is this seriously all they’ve got?!’_ Ruby wondered, torn between feeling glad that the inevitable fight would be easy and sad that these poor bikers were so limited in firepower.

Surprisingly, however, the bikers didn’t immediately attack them. Instead, they were just staring at the two teams of Huntsmen-in-training, seemingly at a loss for words.

“…Who the fuck are you lot supposed to be?” One of them finally asked, gesturing at the two teams.

“They…they look like Wellies, don’t they?” Another biker asked. “More meat on them, fancy get-ups…”

“But…they’re young. _Too_ young.” A third muttered out, looking directly at Ruby. “The red one there looks like she would’ve been sent on the train…”

“Wait, what?” Ruby asked, feeling increasingly concerned at their odd behavior. Wellies were probably the people living in Wellington Wells, but what did them having ‘more meat’ mean? And why were they talking about trains?

“Enough, you muppets!” One of the bikers shouted out, storming to the front of their group. “You all saw that airship! That means that they’re not just tourists! They’re from out of town! It’s the Blanks all over again!”

The other bikers all appeared to snap out of their confusion with that statement. Shaking their makeshift weapons, the group of furious goons began to advance on the two teams, growling random phrases at them as they walked forwards.

“Not again, you dogs!”

“Murderers, the lot of you!”

“You’re not taking the V-Meat! It’s _ours!_ ”

Glancing around, Ruby saw that her teammates were quick to react, readying their weapons and pointing them back at the bikers.

“We don’t want your things! We just want you to stop planting explosives and answer some questions!” Weiss called out, scowling as she readied Myrtenaster.

“Come on, guys! Can’t we just calm down and talk things out?” Jaune asked, putting Crocea Mors into its shield mode.

Snarling, the biker at the front of their group pulled out a lead pipe from his jacket, pointing it at Jaune. “Enough of your lies! We’re not going to let you bastards back into the Garden! _Pound ‘em_!"

With that final rallying cry, the dozen or so bikers began sprinting forwards in a single leather-clad wave towards the two teams, swinging their weapons wildly as they charged.

All Ruby could do was sigh in exasperation, quickly switching Crescent Rose into its scythe form. It would have been nice if they could talk their way out of a fight for once, but…well, it wasn’t like any of them had expected this to go differently.

On the plus side, the biker with the rocky stick was the closest one to her. At least some good would come out of this beatdown, even if it just meant destroying that ‘weapon’.

* * *

_‘Come on, come on, come on! Where the hell are the stairs down to the tracks?!’_

It had only been a few moments since the horrible, terrifying, and _very loud_ noises outside had started, and Arthur was already panicking.

Forget a bomb, what kind of madman still had _bullets_ after all these years? The fucking Home Guard didn’t even have bullets these days, and they were the ones holding on to all the old militia gear! And there was no way the _Headboys_ , of all people, were wielding actual, functional, loaded firearms!

Of course, there was also the very, _very_ concerning possibility that whoever was shooting outside hadn’t simply been saving up their supplies of munitions just for today. If that was the case, then getting outside of Wellington Wells just became much more urgent.

_‘Oh, please don’t tell me that the Numbs came back! Why would they decide to visit_ now _?!’_

Sadly, the task of leaving was proving to be more difficult than he had anticipated, given the fact that he couldn’t even remember where the entrance to the platform was.

It hadn’t helped that whoever had taken residence inside the Station had decided to set up boxes and furniture and barricades practically everywhere. Piles of crates and sandbags were tossed all over the place, making the few paths Arthur _could_ remember completely impassible. Even the floors weren’t spared from this change, with some sections being covered in piles of wooden boards or pieces of debris.

The fact that the incredibly violent noises from outside had already started to die down only heightened his anxiety. No matter who won the fight outside, it would almost certainly end poorly for him when they eventually decided to come inside.

Looking around wildly, Arthur tried to remember something, _anything_ about the building’s layout that might be useful. Sadly, the only memories that came to mind were of what had happened on the platform on That Day, and not of what had happened in the rest of the building.

“The tunnels can’t be that much further, can they?” Arthur murmured, wandering further into the station. “Surely there’s a stairwell, or a maintenance hatch, or _something_!”

“Hello? Is someone in there?” A new voice called out from somewhere behind him. Unsurprisingly, the voice didn’t seem like it was from a Headboy. It was softer, and lighter, like…

_‘Like they’re too young to be from Wellington Wells. Am…am I going crazy?’_

The possibility was uncomfortably high, considering the usual effects of going off one’s Joy and the horrible things he’d witnessed thus far.

“Please, don’t be afraid!” The strange voice continued, getting closer. “We’re here to help!”

_‘And end up like those Headboys you ran into? I’d rather live, thank you very much.’_ Arthur thought, continuing to look for the stairs. They had to be _somewhere_ nearby! It wasn’t like they could have been filled up that easily…

…Except for the fact that this building was over half a century old, was left without maintenance for two decades, and just had a massive bomb go off right against the side of it. Sure, the aboveground portions of the building may have held up after the blast, but that didn’t mean that the _under_ ground sections would be as fortunate.

“Oh, Gods, the stairs have collapsed, haven’t they?” Arthur muttered, rubbing his forehead.

“Did someone say something?”

_‘Shit, I said that out loud!’_

Looking behind him, Arthur was horrified to see two figures walk out into the center of the station. They were looking around, presumably searching for him, and…

And…

They were strange in just about every way he could think of.

They were too young, for starters. Hell, they were practically _teenagers_! There was no sign of wrinkles, or scars, or other typical accoutrements of age that most Wellies carried. They even looked like they had been properly fed!

The armor and weapons they were walking around with were also fairly intimidating. The Headboys had been bad enough with their Bobby helmets and leather jackets, but these people had fucking _plate armor_! And shields! And an actual _spear_!

It was practically the opposite of the muted, drab uniforms and plain weapons that the Nulls had used, but it was still terrifying in its own way. It was… _new!_ Unknown!

And now both of them were looking directly at him. If the way they were readying their weapons was any indication, he needed to act fast.

“Uh, h-hello there! L-lovely day for it!” Arthur stuttered, walking backwards across some scattered boards. He needed to find a way out somewhere, _anywhere_ , away from-

_crrrreeeeeeak_

Pausing at the strange sound, Arthur looked down. He noticed that the boards seemed rather old here, and full of small cracks…

…and they were bending quite a bit more than he’d expect for a flat floor…

_‘…oh, shit.’_

With that final thought, the floor collapsed, sending Arthur screaming into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Maldevinine for beta-ing this chapter!


	6. Tunnel Rats

_‘…Something’s not right here.’_ Blake thought, looking at the pile of defeated gang members.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t expected such a pile to be made. After they charged headfirst into the two teams of Huntsmen-in-training with nothing but branches and old cooking utensils, that was really the only logical outcome.

It was the gang members themselves that were off. Sure, it hadn’t been likely that they would actually hurt or injure anyone. But then there were little things, like the ragged state of their uniforms, and how few hits it took to keep them down for the count. And with how thin they were…

Blake could still remember some of the videos and photos the White Fang had used to promote the cause. Many of them had shown starving, thin Faunus, completely ignored by the systems that were supposed to protect them. She’d even seen evidence of starvation in a handful of the newer recruits, before the training and regular meals helped get them into shape.

And with how thin these gang members were, they looked uncomfortably similar to some of the worse cases she’d witnessed.

These people were clearly not eating well, to the point where some of them were practically just skin and bones. Even _then_ , they’d still tried to attack, fighting until they had all been knocked unconscious.

Well, that or…worse.

She grimaced, looking over at one of the worse-off gang members. Thankfully there hadn’t been _too_ many of those, and she and Yang had been able to try and treat them before any of the others had noticed, but there was only so much she could do to hide broken bones or a ruptured eye. That wasn’t even counting any possible internal injuries they might have gotten.

It was an unfortunate accident, even if it had all technically been in self-defense. None of their wounds looked fatal…hopefully…but they’d still need to get them medical attention soon.

But why would a group like this be out here in the first place? There had to be someone living nearby, or else none of the other islands would have working electricity, so why were they out here specifically? The train station looked like it had been abandoned long before they got here, so what would they gain from blowing it up?

_‘If it comes to it, I guess we can ask them when they wake up._ If _they wake up.’_ Blake thought, frowning.

At the very least, they still had some time to come up with a plan. JNPR had gone off into the station to try and look for anyone else who might be around, while Weiss and Ruby checked out the rest of the outskirts, leaving Yang and her to guard the gang members.

Not that they needed _much_ guarding, per se, but at least they could make sure their injuries didn’t get much worse.

And if things did get too dangerous, or if they did need to bring someone to safety, they still had the Bullhead parked nearby. All they would need to do was get back into range of the CCT Network, send off a message to Beacon, and wait for someone to come and help them.

Still, Blake hoped it wouldn’t come to that. They had been sent out here for some reason, and they still needed to figure out what was going on. Besides, at least some of the other islands were inhabited. It wasn’t that uncommon for towns on the frontier to have some sort of clinic, so they might be able to drop the gang members out there.

_‘And whatever’s going on here, these guys managed to survive it somehow.’_ Blake thought, still keeping an eye on them. _‘Maybe it’s just a food shortage or something.’_

* * *

_The train whistles, again and again, filling the station with a constant, evil shriek._

_“Where are you, Arthur?”_

_A stern-looking constable looks down, staring directly into Arthur’s soul. After a few moments, the bobby gently directs Arthur back towards his father, away from the struggling form of Percy._

_“Arthur? Arthur, please!”_

_The train begins to move down the tracks. As it leaves, the children inside press against the windows, begging for their parents to help them. None of them do._

_“ARTHUR!”_

And Arthur opened his eyes.

The differences between his memories and reality were immediately noticeable. There were no screaming children or sobbing parents. The grim constables and intimidating guards were nowhere to be seen.

Instead, he found himself in a dilapidated, dimly-lit room, with broken planks and chunks of stone covering the floor. What little light there was came from a hole in the ceiling, letting a few rays of sunshine catch onto clouds of floating dust.

And, of course, there was also the feeling of _immense pain_ spreading throughout his entire body.

“Uuuugh…Gods, everything hurts…” Arthur hissed, slowly crawling onto his feet. His limbs were tired and hard to move, his back was creaking and straining just from the act of sitting up, and his head was throbbing madly. Even his umbrella was hurting him, jammed between his ribs and the cold concrete floor.

And this wasn’t even as bad as it could have been. If the fall had been just a little bit higher, or if the rest of the floor had collapsed, or if those strangers had decided to follow him down…

He tried to push those thoughts out of his mind. It wouldn’t help him to get caught up in thoughts of his own mortality again.

“Now…where _am_ I?” Arthur wondered, taking a closer look at his surroundings. While the lighting was poor, he was still able to make out a few details. A large wooden table filled the center of the room, covered in old papers and bottles. Boxes and suitcases were piled into one of the corners, with toys and children’s clothes spilling out of them.

…Wait. They didn’t take the clothes or toys?

Arthur frowned. “Did…did the Numbs leave all this here? But why?”

He could somewhat understand them leaving behind the toys, with that whole ‘no fun allowed’ mindset of theirs. Those bastards had banned just about every form of recreation in Wellington Wells within the first few weeks of the occupation, from cricket matches to chalk drawings.

But why leave behind the spare clothes? Surely those were practical enough to bring along to wherever the hell they ran off to?

Shaking his head, Arthur turned away. _‘It doesn’t matter_. _If they were storing these things here, then there’s got to be a door to the tracks somewhere nearby.’_

After all, there were only a handful of doorways from the room. One seemed to lead off towards some public toilets, another was labeled ‘Parts Storage’, and the last one’s door had been completely knocked off its hinges.

_‘Well…I suppose it’s less ominous than the other tunnel was. At least there’s no blood or bodies around this time.’_

Basking in that cheerful thought, Arthur made his way through the ruined doorway, hissing in pain with each uncomfortable step. If he bothered to take the time to look, he would probably find his whole body was covered in cuts and bruises. Still, at least none of his limbs were broken or twisted the wrong way. Even with the tracks nearby, he didn’t fancy his odds of making it to safety with a ruined leg or arm.

Even better, the next room was devoid of any rabid Uncle Jack fans this time around. The place appeared to be a generator room, with massive machines whirring and rattling on the walls. Warnings of electrical discharges were plastered all around, and he could see a hand crank on one of the furthest generators. From there, one last doorway opened out into-

“The tracks! _Yes!_ ” Arthur cheered, pumping a fist into the air. Just ahead was the beautiful, soothing, _incredible_ sight of the station platform, finally within reach. He could just peek over the edge at the rail tracks, leading off far into the tunnels beyond.

His ticket out of Wellington Wells was right ahead.

Right where everything went to shit, all those years ago.

_“You are too old to go to Mantle, are you not?”_

_“He can’t take care of himself!”_

They’d even left the chain link fences standing nearby, their tops still covered in spools of barbed wire.

_“I promised I’d go with him!”_

_“No! NO!”_

Arthur shuddered, clutching his shoulders. It hadn’t been his fault that he’d been left behind! They had only taken those who were under thirteen! He should have lied about his age, should have gotten on the train with Percy…but that damned constable…

_‘I’m sorry, Percy. But we’ll meet up soon. Just like I promised.’_

Stumbling towards the edge of the platform, Arthur slowly lowered himself down onto the tracks. The tunnel floor was lumpy and uneven, with piles of gravel spread out everywhere under the rails. With the way his legs were aching, it was all he could do simply to walk forwards, even unsteadily.

Unfortunately, his trek ended much, _much_ too soon.

Just out of sight from the platform, only a few dozen feet away, the tunnel had collapsed. Car-sized chunks of stone and rubble were strewn everywhere, lit up by a single flickering light bulb.

The path to the Britannia Bridge was completely sealed.

“No…please, no…” Arthur whispered, clutching his head. “What the fuck do I do now?”

What _could_ he do? It wasn’t like he could just stroll back to the Parade District, with the Bobbies and Joy Detectors on all the bridges. The Underground was too labyrinthian for him to just backtrack his way to his office. There wasn’t any way he could swim to the mainland unless he fancied trying to jump off the cliffs and into the ocean.

…Was there _any_ way left to get out of town?

“FUCKING LEG IT, LADS!”

Startled at the sudden noise, Arthur twisted around. Back by the platform, a handful of people were rapidly approaching, lit up by their head lamps and the occasional fluorescent bulb. They looked like Headboys, but instead of the cocky, arrogant bastards that had charged into the station, these ones looked like they were running for their lives. Their jackets and jeans were torn even more than normal, and at least one of them was bleeding.

Which could only mean that the strangers had made it down to the tunnels as well.

_‘How did they all get down here?! The stairs were all blocked!’_ Arthur mentally cursed, looking for a place to hide.

He wasn’t fast enough. Just as he noticed another door at the side of the tunnel, one of the Headboys caught up to him. The gang member quickly grappled onto him, trying to wrap his arms around Arthur’s neck. Arthur struggled against him, but between the exhaustion and the rusty cleaver the Headboy had pulled out, he was quickly forced into submission.

Right where the two strangers were approaching, with two motionless Headboys in their wake.

“D-don’t come any closer! I-I’ll kill him!” The remaining Headboy shouted out, pressing the rusty blade against Arthur’s throat.

Shockingly, the strangers didn’t simply charge in and try to kill them both. Instead, the two strangers paused. Both were still keeping their weapons ready, but they almost seemed…hesitant?

_‘_ Now _they’re waiting?! What the hell is going on?!’_

“Let him go.” The strange girl said. “You’ve got nowhere else to run. We don’t want to hurt you.”

“D-don’t want to – you just killed Harry and Henry!” The Headboy screamed.

“No, we didn’t! They’re just knocked out!” The strange boy said. The fact that he was glancing back at the bodies as he said that did little to bolster his argument.

“I-I’m not gonna let you turn me into V-Meat! Either you let me walk out of here, or this dumb sod gets gutted!” The Headboy continued, pressing the cleaver harshly against Arthur’s throat. He could already feel a sharp sting from where the blade was cutting into his skin…

…and then it was gone?

Glancing down, Arthur noticed that the cleaver was starting to move away from his neck. However, it didn’t seem like the Headboy was removing it willingly. Arthur could make out the gang member’s arm struggling and shaking as he held onto it, like he was trying to pull it back in place.

The strange girl shrugged. “We warned you.” She said, gesturing with one of her hands.

As she did so, the Headboy seemed to go off-balance, stumbling forwards and sending both him and Arthur tumbling towards the ground. The cleaver didn’t drop down with the Headboy, however.

The cleaver was still _floating in the fucking air_.

“No…no, no, no!” The Headboy cried, inching backwards. “Witch! You’re with the-!”

He never got to finish the sentence, as the girl’s shield flew into his face with a brutal _clang_. The gang member immediately flopped backwards, unmoving.

The strange girl sighed, lowering her arm. Immediately, the cleaver stopped floating in mid-air, dropping onto the gravel with a soft thud.

“Hey, are you okay? Did you get hurt?” The strange boy asked, walking forwards.

Arthur blinked. “…You’re… _not_ going to kill me?”

The two strangers seemed startled by the question. “W-what? No!” The boy yelled, shaking his head. “We’re here to try and help you!”

‘… _What.’_

“You were the one that fell through the floor, right?” The strange girl asked. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

So. The madmen who just showed up out of nowhere, thoroughly trounced an entire mob of Headboys, and had the ability to _control metal with a gesture_ were supposedly concerned about his well-being.

…Well, this day had already featured some of the most bizarre events he’d ever experienced. Might as well go along with it until things started to make sense again. Or until he could get away from these madmen.

“No. No, I’m really not.” Arthur grunted, cautiously sitting up. “Who are you? You’re from out of town, right?”

“I’m Pyrrha, and this is Jaune.” The newly named Pyrrha said, looking oddly at him. “We’re student Huntsmen from Beacon Academy, sent here to…well, we’re not entirely certain, to be honest. What’s your name?”

“…Arthur Hastings.” Arthur said, trying to filter through the rapidly increasing number of questions their arrival had raised. All those Headboys had been taken out by _students_? They had been sent _here_ , of all the towns on Sanus, without even knowing _why_? Why had it taken anyone _this long_ to send anyone to check up on Wellington Wells? And why the hell were they so _calm_ about all of this?!

“Uh, hello? You’re kinda spacing out there.” Jaune interrupted, waving his hand in front of Arthur’s face.

Arthur sighed. “Just…look, it’s been a rough day for me, and this whole situation is completely mental. Can we…talk about this upstairs?” He asked, wincing as he stood up.

“Sure. If you want, we can also patch up any injuries you have up there.” Pyrrha nodded, motioning back towards the platform.

“Much appreciated.” Arthur mumbled. He started to shuffle forwards, but paused as Pyrrha made another gesture. In an instant, her shield had flown back into her hand, looking as if it had never been thrown in the first place. She hadn’t even _blinked_ as that happened!

_‘…What the hell have I gotten myself into?’_

* * *

Ollie Starkey hated Fridays.

Granted, he hated most days, but Fridays tended to be especially frustrating for him. Not because of any hoity-toity Wellies or shitty hours at an office. No, Fridays were usually the day where his luck was simply the lowest in the week. Like the time the water pump broke down and he couldn’t find spare parts, or the time someone fixed the loudspeakers a few blocks away and let _that bastard_ talk again.

And now, after a remarkably noisy evening, he would have to add ‘total Headboy warfare’ to the list of terrible Fridays he’d experienced.

Fucking wastrels, with their bombs and their bullets and their _stares_. Who were they to take away the few bits of food he had tucked away? If they wanted their precious carrots and tea leaves that badly, they should have posted more than two guards at their supply cellars.

Well, all their taunting and bombing had been good for one thing; it gave him enough time to finish setting up the last of the barricades. If they tried to barge into the rest of the Station, they’d need another bomb just to get through the doors.

“It’s just a bench. Do you really think that this will keep out whoever’s shooting outside?”

“It’s better than leaving the doors unlocked.” Ollie replied, glancing back at Margaret. As usual, the young girl was just sitting around on part of the scaffolding, watching him do all the hard work. She did have the excuse of being dead to fall back on, but the constant questioning was still a little too much.

“And if they try to blow up the building again?” She asked, swinging her legs.

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. With any luck, they’ve all gunned themselves down by now.” Ollie waved her off, moving back towards the center of the hall. He could use a break after all that taunting and barricade-building, and a cup of tea sounded like just the thing for it.

Margaret looked like she was about to give off another retort, but suddenly paused. “…Do you hear that?” She asked, looking around.

“Hear what?”

“Someone else is talking. I think it’s coming from downstairs.”

Ollie paused, glancing towards the stairs to the platform. Sure enough, after a few moments, he could make out the faint sounds of conversation coming from underground, gradually getting louder and louder.

It was a bit of a shame. He’d spent all that time covering up the other entrances to the tracks, and the wastrels had managed to pry their way in anyways. Bunch of greedy, murderous bastards, the lot of them.

Oh well. He’d just have to show them the way back out.

Grabbing his cricket bat, Ollie carefully made his way over towards the top of the stairs. Best to deal with the rats before they got into the pantry, after all. Not like there was much food for them to steal in the first place.

It wasn’t like any Headboys would be much of a threat, in any event. A few good knocks on the head would be more than enough to deal with whoever was down there, and if there happened to be too many of them, or if they still had guns, he’d just toss a Banger at them. It’d worked enough times in the past.

…Come to think of it, that _may_ have something to do with why they’d set off a bomb outside his house. Those bastards sure knew how to hold grudges.

“Wait.” Margaret said, suddenly appearing near the bottom of the stairs.

“What is it _now_?” Ollie asked exasperatedly.

“They don’t sound like the other wastrels. They’re…younger. And I think one of them is a woman.” Margaret replied, peeking around the corner. “They certainly don’t _look_ like the other wastrels.”

“What the hell does that-” Ollie started to say, only for the newcomers to walk out into view and bring his thoughts to a halt.

To put it plainly, the new arrivals were fucking _weird._

The red-haired lass was dressed up like some sort of medieval soldier-type, straight out of the history books or fairy tales with her ancient armor and fancy metal stick. The blonde lad had just slapped a piece of armor plate over a jacket and some trousers, but the sword he was carrying looked like an actual proper tool of warfare.

And limping along between the two of them, of all the people to show up, was _Artie fucking Hastings?!_

“…Margaret? You didn’t happen to invite a couple of friends to torment me, have ye?” Ollie asked.

“Not this time.” Margaret cheerfully replied, reappearing right at his side.

“…Alright. Then I suppose we’d best go and meet the new arrivals.” Ollie said, pointedly ignoring the implications of that answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Maldevinine for beta-ing this chapter!


	7. An Enigma (Partially) Decoded

It had only been several moments since they had saved his life, and Arthur had just gotten less certain on what to think about Pyrrha and Jaune.

It wasn't unreasonable to think that whatever parts of the world were still left standing had developed differently from Wellington Wells. It was quite the fair assumption to make, really. Twenty years of isolationism and trauma was hardly the best way to invite cultural and technological change. The differences were as clear as the bizarre, almost gaudy outfits the two teenagers walking nearby were wearing compared to his own torn, ruined suit.

That wasn't necessarily bad. He could accept change. If he couldn't, he'd still be happily spreading ink lines over old newspapers and bashing dead rats at birthday parties back in the Parade.

But that didn't make it any less strange when they casually started using devices that looked like they were torn out of an old sci-fi movie.

Shortly after they had begun walking to the surface, Pyrrha had brought out a glowing… _thing_ , waving it around and trying to talk to it like some sort of handheld radio. Supposedly it was a communication device from wherever they came from, although they weren't able to find a signal this far underground.

And then there were the weapons.

Oh, _Gods_ , the weapons.

Sure, having some sort of bladed or blunt instrument out in the middle of nowhere was a sensible idea. Nobody would want to be caught unprepared if something nasty showed up, like the Grimm, or bandits, or whatever other horrors were lying on the mainland. Granted, you were only slightly less likely to die horribly with a weapon on hand, but it still offered a chance.

But what kind of madman needed a sword that could transform into a shield? Or a spear that could fold over into a rifle? Wouldn't just sticking a bayonet on the end of a gun be simpler, like what the Home Army lads did?

All of these oddities only served to worsen his headache, which was already at the head-splitting level from everything else that had occurred thus far. If the fall hadn't given him a concussion, then Defoe almost certainly had.

If that was all that had happened, he would have been content just trying to ignore the oddities of his new compatriots in silence. After all, far from caving his head in, they were letting him walk straight back up to the ground level. And if they were being truthful, then they would be leading him directly to some desperately needed medical supplies.

But then, in order to pass the time until they reached the surface, they had started to engage in that most common and dreaded pastime of Wellington Wells.

_Conversation_.

"Hey, Arthur? What were you doing down in these tunnels, anyways?" Jaune asked from beside him.

"Dragging up bad memories, apparently." Arthur muttered.

"What?"

"N-nothing. I was just trying to find my way down to the train tracks. I thought that I could get out of town through the rail tunnels, but…" Arthur grimaced, glancing back towards the collapsed section. _Nothing_ could make it past that much stone and rubble.

"Through the tunnels?" Pyrrha interjected. "Why not just walk across the bridges?"

Arthur wanted to laugh. Yes, why _wouldn't_ he just stroll across the bridges? It wasn't like there were Bobbies, Spankers, and Joy Detectors that were standing in his way, let alone the hordes of good Wellies looking for anything out of the ordinary-

' _Except what_ they _think of as ordinary_ isn't _ordinary around here. Of_ course _they're curious about all this, they're bloody outsiders. For all they know, the other islands are filled to the brim with Grimm or more Headboys.'_

"That route…isn't exactly open for me at the moment." Arthur hesitantly replied, unsure of how to explain the situation without coming across as a loon or a criminal. Granted, he _was_ technically a criminal, but it wasn't like he had done anything wrong!

' _Don't think about the fights, don't think about the fights-'_

"What do you mean? Are the bridges destroyed?" Pyrrha asked.

"No…I just wouldn't be allowed to cross them." Arthur said, rubbing his arm. "They've got checkpoints set up on all of them to catch anyone who's gone off their-"

"Oi! Is that you there, Artie?"

Startled at the sudden shout, the three of them quickly turned towards the source of the noise. Standing at the top of the nearby staircase, a tall, bulky man was walking down towards them, sporting a curious look on his face. He was dressed up like a Home Army soldier, but he didn't seem to be carrying a rifle on him, and he wasn't wearing a mask-

Wait. That accent…the thick, brown beard…the sergeant's stripes…

"…Bloody hell. Ollie?" Arthur called out. _Ollie Starkey_ , of all people, had been the mad wastrel who'd been chucking bottles at passing wastrels? That was…pretty in line with what he remembered of Ollie, actually.

"Gods, it _is_ you!" Ollie said. "What are _you_ doing all the way out here? And who are those lads supposed to be?"

"They're…um…" Arthur trailed off, glancing at Pyrrha and Jaune for help. They seemed much more concerned with Ollie's sudden appearance than he was, but at least they were only resting their hands on their weapons instead of immediately drawing them.

"Pyrrha Nikos and Jaune Arc." Pyrrha said. "We're student Huntsmen from Beacon, sent to investigate something in this town."

Almost instantaneously, Ollie's face morphed into a tired frown. "Oh, Oum, it's bleeding Huntsmen. And they didn't even send in the _trained_ ones?" He groaned, shaking his head. "What's next, the Mantleans coming back to finish the job?"

At this, Jaune and Pyrrha exchanged confused looks. "Mantleans? Why would they be a problem?" Jaune asked.

Ollie simply stared at the two teenagers, his frown deepening slightly. "You really don't know a bloody thing about this place, do ye? Look, just head outside and-"

All of a sudden, Ollie stopped speaking, glancing over towards some point above the stairs. His expression changed again from exhaustion to surprise. "What do you _mean_ , let the rest of them in? How is that going to-"

He fell silent again, glancing between the unseen point and Arthur. Out of the corners of his eyes, Arthur could make out Jaune and Pyrrha glancing between him and Ollie in confusion.

' _How should I know what's wrong with him? This is the first time I've seen him in over a decade!'_

After several moments of increasingly awkward silence, Ollie let out a small sigh. "You're right. You're always right." He said, turning towards Pyrrha and Jaune. "If there's anyone else you brought along, you two ought to bring them inside. It'd be best to have a bit of a chat about what exactly you lot have dropped yourselves into." With that, he turned around, climbing back up the stairs.

"…Is…is that normal?" Jaune asked, shooting worried looks towards Arthur and Pyrrha.

Arthur wished he could provide some sort of rebuttal to Jaune. Ollie had been kind to him in the past, and had been mostly normal in the memories he could dredge up about him, but…

…well, this _was_ the Garden District. Based on everything he'd seen so far, insanity was practically a requirement to living here.

"…Probably." Arthur muttered, following in Ollie's wake. If he was due for another round of hair-tearing madness, he was going to make damned well sure he could get some painkillers first.

* * *

As soon as Ollie had heard the word 'Beacon', he knew that everything was about to go to hell.

His past experiences with Huntsmen had been infrequent, but exactly none of them had ended on a positive note. Whether it had been one of von Stauffenberg's jack-booted bastards or the rare wandering gun-for-hire from Vale proper, they were always a bunch of smug, overconfident numpties with more firepower than sense.

But Margaret had never steered him wrong in the past. When he'd made a right mess of things previously, like the whole television smashing spree, she always seemed to be able to come up with a solution to pull him out of the fire. At this point, even if he disagreed with what she said, he would never just throw away her advice.

And he supposed that they couldn't be _that_ bad if they had brought little Artie along with them. The poor lad looked like he'd been mauled by an Ursa with all the cuts and bruises he was sporting. It was a good thing the newcomers were willing to fork over some medicine to deal with that. All Ollie had left was an expired bottle of painkillers and some dirty rags for bandages.

He just had to keep reminding himself of these valid, reasonable points as _eight_ of the young bastards-in-training invaded his home. After the lightest of introductions, they'd certainly gone and made themselves comfortable, scattering all over the damned place.

As expected, each and every one of them was an insult to sensibility and standardization. From the orange-haired lass with the anvil on a stick to the young child clinging onto a sniper scythe, it looked like the damned parade had finally come to town.

"Are you sure that's not just your age catching up with you?" Margaret asked, sitting nearby on a crate.

"It's bloody nonsensical is what it is." Ollie grumbled. Sure, having great big guns like that would be all well and good for killing the Grimm, but it would play hell with logistics. He could still remember the damned Numb 'Stormtroopers' nabbing everything that wasn't nailed down from the ammo dumps, even if the specifics were a tad blurred.

"They seem to be doing well for themselves so far." Margaret continued, gesturing towards the others. Most of them were sitting around a small fire in the center of the hall, either talking to each other or glancing around at the dilapidated scenery around them. Every so often, some of those stares would land right on his back, almost as pointedly as those bawbags in the Village.

"Aye. For now." Ollie said.

' _You've faced worse before, Ollie. You can get through this bloody mess.'_

All he had to do was explain to them what kind of hellhole they've just stepped in and convince them to just go home, preferably taking him and Margaret with them. Maybe even Artie as well, if they had enough room. It wasn't like complaining about Wellington Wells would be difficult.

"Hey, you!" A shrill, angry voice called out. "Weren't you going to explain what's going on here?"

"As much as I hate to agree, we probably should get this conversation back _on track_." A more cheerful, deeper voice called out, dragging out the pun.

'… _Gods help us all.'_

"Fine, then. You want to know about Wellington Wells, right? See the sights, meet the people, all that bollocks?" Ollie asked, glaring at each of the assembled teenagers. Most of them nodded, with varying degrees of enthusiasm. "Then I'll say the only thing worth saying. This place is dying, and you ought to just head back home."

"Head home _already_? After we just flew all the way out here? Sorry, pal, but that's not happening." Yang said, crossing her arms and grinning defiantly.

"I'm telling you, this place is a lost cause. Half the town is starving to death in a bunch of bombed out ruins, and the other half is running around like a bunch of madmen, beating everyone who's not high as a bloody kite." Ollie growled.

"That seems…excessive." Ren said. "But that still doesn't mean that there's nothing we can do to help-"

"Wait…did you say that people are being attacked for _not_ taking drugs?" Weiss asked. "Wh…what kind of system is _that_ supposed to be?"

"A bad one. They've been like this ever since the bloody occupation." Ollie replied.

Several of the students glanced at each other, clearly confused. "Occupation?" Jaune asked. "Does this have something to do with those Mantleans you were taking about?"

"Mantleans?" Blake asked. "Why would they-"

"Enough, enough! Oum, what a mess." Ollie moaned, rubbing his forehead. "You want more bloody answers? Fine. Then we'll start from the beginning. Any of you heard of Colonel von Stauffenberg?"

Silence.

"…The Mantlean Loyalists?"

More silence, along with several uncertain glances.

"Well that's just peachy." Ollie muttered, shaking his head. Well, he wasn't much for storytelling anyways. "Right. Long story short, we got invaded and occupied twenty years ago by a bunch of idiots that thought they were the second coming of Mantle."

Now _that_ got their attention. Instead of simply looking at him like he _might_ have been a loony, now they were looking at him like he actually _was_ a loony.

"So…you're saying that a bunch of people wanted to rebuild Mantle…by invading _here_?" Blake asked, with one eyebrow raised in disbelief.

"It's not like they bothered explaining their plan when they were rolling tanks across the bridges." Ollie said, rolling his eyes.

" _Tanks_? This… _insurgency_ had access to armored vehicles?" Weiss asked. "That doesn't make sense. If they had that kind of equipment, the military should have been tracking them down!"

"If they were, they certainly took their bloody time to catch up to them! Now, as I was _saying_ ," Ollie trawled, glaring at each of the student Huntsmen, "we got taken over. They started taking supplies, had people build gear for them, and all sorts of other nastiness in the name of upholding the 'mantle of Mantle', whatever the hell _that_ was supposed to be. But that still wasn't enough for them. They…they did something worse…"

Ollie trailed off, glancing towards the side. Sitting on a table, well lit by a handful of candles, was one of the few photographs of Margaret he had been able to hold on to. Still smiling, as if the day was just another great big adventure. Like she used to do before the occupation.

Before that _traitor_ helped the Numbs shoot her in the back.

…Compared to what happened to the others, he still wasn't sure if she had been one of the lucky ones.

"Um, sir? A-are you okay?" Ruby's voice called out.

Ollie looked back, noticing the young Huntsmen continuing to stare at him. Right. He had been talking about the dark days. Well, the dark days before the _current_ dark days.

'… _Why does the past have to be so bloody complicated?'_

* * *

' _Why does this town have to be so complicated?'_ Weiss wondered, glaring at their bizarre informant.

Everything about Wellington Wells, from the dilapidated state of the nearby structures to the weak bands of criminals, had been eating at her mind since they had arrived. _This_ was the town that her father had gotten so furious about? _This_ was the sort of place that needed two teams of student Huntsmen to assist? The town was already as good as abandoned!

And now this new information only made the situation worse. Violent, drug-addled mobs ruling the streets? Revolutionaries with access to _armored fighting vehicles_? An entire _town_ falling under occupation and being ransacked, with _nobody_ _else_ hearing about it?

…Either their newfound acquaintance was delusional, or there was something _horrifically_ wrong with this entire situation.

Sadly, she couldn't just blindly accept the former. _Something_ had to have attacked this town, and the damage the buildings had sustained lacked the typical thoroughness of Grimm attacks. There was likely at least _some_ truth to what he was saying, even if it was unlikely.

For now, they'd just have to take him at his word, as horrifying a prospect as that was.

Thankfully, her teammate's question seemed to drag him out of whatever internal dialogue he was going through _this_ time, finally turning back to face them.

"Not really. This part is…difficult to explain." Ollie said, sighing. "A while after they arrived, the Mantleans gave us one last order. We were told to sign up every child under the age of thirteen into a ledger, gather them up, and…bring them here…"

"Bring them…but why would…" Weiss trailed off, her eyes slowly widening in shock. There was only one reason why a group of heavily armed militants would bring them here, but…to take _that many_ children…what kind of monsters would _do_ something like that?

"Aye, looks like she's got it figured out." Ollie said, nodding glumly at her. "The Numbs packed the children onto the trains, shipped them out…and they never brought them back."

Those children hadn't returned? Even after _twenty years_? But…surely actions like that would warrant a military response! Or an open bounty on that entire insurgency! Or…or… _something_! That kind of barbarism couldn't have just been _ignored_!

"B-but what about the military? O-or the Academies?" Jaune asked, mirroring her thoughts.

A harsh, cruel bark filled the air. It took Weiss a moment to realize that it was Ollie laughing, bitterly and unhappily. "We didn't see a single soldier from the mainland until a _month_ after the Numbs left, and all they did was ask us which direction the Blanks went before leaving us high and dry. I think they were surprised to see that we still alive, to be honest."

A sharp _crack_ filled the air, this time coming from Yang. The brawler's hair was burning fiercely, and her eyes were glowing in a brutal crimson. Her hands were clenched on the bench she was sitting on, with the wood splintering from where she was gripping it.

"Oi, calm down! There's no need to be breaking my bloody chairs!" Ollie shouted, seemingly heedless of Yang's anger. "Those bastards are long gone, lass! Save your anger for someone you can get to."

" _Calm down?_ You just expect me to be _calm_ after hearing some assholes kidnapped an entire _town's_ worth of kids?" Yang growled, standing up and glaring furiously at Ollie.

"Of course not!" Ollie exclaimed, returning her glare. "I got kicked out of my damned house because I _wouldn't_ stop caring about what happened! But if you think you can just walk over the bridge and punch these problems away, you're about two decades late!"

Yang didn't respond, simply staring at Ollie as her Semblance raged around her. However, after a few moments, she seemed to calm herself down. Her fiery hair slowly cooled down, and her eyes returned to their normal coloration.

'… _That was somewhat surprising. I was half expecting her to throw him through a window.'_

Ollie sighed, shaking his head. "I get that you're upset. It's not like we're exactly pleased that all this has happened. But there isn't anything you lot can do to fix this. The best thing you can do is go and bring back-"

" _Uh, teams? Can you hear me?"_

The sudden broadcast brought the discussion to a halt. Digging out her scroll, Weiss quickly opened up the interface, revealing the Bullhead pilot's signal connecting to them.

"Yes, we can. Is there something wrong?" Weiss asked.

" _Um, probably. I'm seeing a large group of people approaching this building from the south. Looks like they're dressed up in old army uniforms, or something."_

…Old army uniforms? But Ollie had said that there wasn't a military presence in the town. Or had one been established after the occupation?

Confused, Weiss turned to Ollie for an explanation, only to be halted by the _very_ exhausted look he was throwing at them.

"Oh, for _fuck's_ sake." Ollie groaned. "You've brought the bleeding Home Army on our heads."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Maldevinine for beta-ing this!


	8. Come Out, Ye Black and Tans

John Rann was a simple man with simple needs.

He didn’t ask for much in life. Just little things, like finding enough food to get through the day, the occasional sip of toilet spirits, and first dibs at any tourists that tried to saunter their way over from the Village. It was all completely reasonable, and well within his rights as the Head Boy of the Garden District.

As such, when something interfered with these simple, basic, _perfectly reasonable_ goals of his, he became understandably angry.

And one particular soul had just made him very, _very_ angry.

The target of his ire, the apparent sole survivor of the raid on the Train Station, could only whimper and groan in pain as he spat out what had gone wrong. The lad was hardly in great shape: half of his teeth had been knocked out, and what skin was visible was covered in bruises. He’d barely survived having part of the Train Station fall on top of him, which was the only reason he’d managed to avoid being nabbed by a death squad of ‘colorful magical bastards with guns’, as he so put it.

The story was so ludicrous and fantastical that John had been torn between throwing the survivor off the cliffs and turning him into the new bard.

But then some of the other lads had described seeing other weird things over near the Train Station. Colorful figures entering and leaving the building, bound up Headboys being dragged about, and an unknown wastrel fraternizing with the Highlander. A few had even said they’d seen a fucking _aircraft_ land next to the building.

Was it the damned Mantleans coming around for another go? Were a bunch of tourists trying to raise hell in the Garden? And why the hell would someone like _Ollie fucking Starkey_ work with _anyone_ , let alone outsiders?

None of it made any sense.

…but then again it didn’t _need_ to make sense, did it?

Really, there was only one part of the situation that needed to be immediately considered: the Headboys had been fucked over. And that was simply unacceptable.

The Headboys were the masters of the Garden District. Not the Bobbies, not the Wellies, and not the damned Executive Committee, it was the _Headboys_! _They_ were the ones who kept killing off the plaguies, _they_ were the ones that kept the patrols up, and _they_ were the ones that kept the water pumps working!

And now some damned upstarts from Gods-know-where think that they know what’s best for this place? That they can just ignore the established order of things?

Well, they’ll just have to be taught who the _real_ ruler of the Garden is.

One bomb and one group of lads wasn’t enough? Then he’d just send in more. Between all four of the holms, he’d easily manage to scrape together a _proper_ response to this incursion. The bombs would be a bit more of a pain, with how damned difficult it was to find enough Dust for them in the first place, but they still had a handful more stored up for _just_ this sort of occasion.

Even through the burning haze of rage that was clouding his mind, John knew that this wouldn’t be a simple task. The fact that only one lad had come back from the first attack could only mean that the next one would be even bloodier, especially if the outsiders had managed to bring Starkey onto their side.

But that was fine. Less mouths to feed meant more food for everyone else, and there was no shortage of willing or ‘willing’ recruits to help replace any losses. Having the only stockpiles of food in the Garden could be pretty damned helpful for persuading any hesitant wastrels.

It didn’t matter how many outsiders had decided to take up residence in the Train Station. It didn’t even matter if they _had_ guns, or magic, or fucking magical guns with them.

No matter the cost, no matter the casualties, that damned building would _burn_.

* * *

The day had finally arrived.

The terrible Mantleans, not content with their actions two decades ago, had finally decided to return to Wellington Wells. Their sinister agents had been seen dropping near the Train Station, and were no doubt causing death and destruction throughout the region as soon as they had landed. The rest of their invasion force would assuredly be with them shortly, expecting to take on a weak, rattled Wellington Wells, still crippled from the occupation.

And to make matters worse, this time the Numbs had brought aircraft with them. Instead of marching across the well-prepared chokepoints and killzones at the Britannia Bridge, like honorable combatants, they had elected to launch a surprise attack straight at the soft underbelly of the Garden District. The wastrels, Joyless and uncivilized as they were, stood no chance.

But the Home Guard was ready.

They had been training for decades, honing and preparing themselves for the inevitable rematch between the insidious invader and the determined defender. Countless practice sessions, perfecting skills as varied as the best ways to stab a man with a bayonet or how to march in the most comfortable way, had forged the Home Army into an indomitable force.

Their bayonets were sharpened. Their uniforms were pressed. They had been equipped with spare Bangers and medical supplies, straight from the emergency stockpiles. The men were very, _very_ eager to pay back the Mantleans for every single injustice that they had wrought on Wellington Wells.

And this time, they even had a secret weapon.

Straight from the brilliant minds at the Department of Scientific Research, and hastily assembled in the dark at the Victory Memorial Camp, they had brought along their mightiest weapon. Capable of blowing away entire hordes of wastrels with sheer air power alone, the pneumatic cannon was a thing of beauty even _before_ the high explosive munitions were included. As the sole piece of ordnance the Home Army possessed, it would be quite the asset in the upcoming campaign.

Sadly, they lacked the ammunition to simply bombard the enemy into submission. It had taken tremendous effort simply to find and repair a handful of leftover bombs for the weapon in the first place, so every shot had to count. They would have to wait, pick out strategic targets, and cripple the enemy with a few precise strikes.

There was also the small, insignificant issue of the weapon being a prototype, with some bugs and kinks still being worked out in the design. Most of the technician’s warnings had gone in one ear and out the other, but he’d heard the words ‘catastrophic explosion’ enough times to know there could possibly be some minor problems with the device.

But Sergeant Murray was undeterred by these limitations. The General himself had entrusted him with this duty, and though the threat was great, so was his resolve and his enthusiasm.

Even now, as his men approached their destination, only a single thought repeated in his mind.

 _‘I can’t wait, I can’t wait, I can’t wait_! _’_

The mere prospect of finally, _finally_ getting the chance to fight the Mantleans again had filled him with renewed energy. Thinking about the inevitable victory ahead was almost as intoxicating as Joy! And the extra Joy he took in addition only served to make him feel even _better_!

Oh, if only they could have brought along some of the tanks as well! Using the enemy’s own weapons against them would have been a lovely dose of irony! And their cannons would make the _perfect_ addition to the bombardment!

Well, if the General saw fit to keep them in reserve, the tanks would stay put in reserve. They’d made do with less in the past, and they would make do with less now.

Soon enough, they had managed to lay eyes upon the Train Station itself. Evidence of the enemy’s activities was already evident, with a pile of wastrel corpses proudly stacked outside of the building and a massive vehicle parked outside the entrance, obviously some sort of aircraft. The Mantleans must have been setting the Train Station up as a base of operations for further incursions, or possibly even a staging area for an assault on the Victory Memorial Camp itself!

Well, if they thought _that_ would work, they had clearly underestimated the preparedness of the Home Army.

Facing his men, Murray quickly began to give out orders. “Alright, lads, let’s get ready. Elles, have your squad set up the cannon. French, I want your squad prepared to assault the Station first, followed by Haig. The quicker you get things set up, the quicker we can charge in there and give them what for!”

The air was filled with raucous cries, and his men swiftly went to work, separating into sections and readying their weapons. It was a glorious sight, watching the Home Guard move with a precision and military focus it had lacked for so long.

Murray couldn’t help but grin. In less than an hour, the Mantleans would be slaughtered to the last man. One final battle, to show the Mantleans once again that it would take more than fancy weapons and heavy armor to keep down a true Wellie.

And if he had to ignore part of the General’s orders to do so, well…if there just so happened to be nobody left to _take_ prisoner, it wouldn’t be that much of a loss. It wasn’t like the General could blame the lads for being a bit… _overenthusiastic_.

But that was for later, after the battle was well and truly won. For now, all he had to do now was make sure the anticipation didn’t kill him off before he got the chance to gut some Numbs. All this excitement was making him feel like a young man of thirty again!

* * *

Well, wasn’t this just fantastic?

Two decades of sitting around on their asses, drilling and marching in their precious little camp, and _now_ the General decides to send his men marching on over into the Garden?

It had to be because of the young Huntsmen and their damned aircraft. The Home Army hadn’t bothered to intervene at all with the plague, the Headboys, or the Garden District’s general status quo of misery, starvation, and delirium in the past, so it only made sense. Knowing them, they probably thought that the Numbs were coming back for another go.

 _‘And right when Artie came back for a visit. It’s turning out to be quite the neighborhood reunion.’_ Ollie thought, glancing around the hall for his cricket bat. Hopefully it wouldn’t be necessary, but…

It was the Home Army, all in all. Them leaving the Victory Memorial Camp already meant that someone’s skull would end up cracked open. Some Bangers and blue molotovs wouldn’t hurt, either…

“Wait, what’s the Home Army?” Jaune asked. “Is that part of the Vale military, or…”

“No, nothing like that. Those bastards haven’t set foot here in _years_.” Ollie groaned. “That’s just what people call the town militia. Used to train ourselves up like the army, but…well, after the occupation, nobody was quite right in the head.”

“You don’t say.” Weiss deadpanned, looking at him. Being the _gracious_ host he was, Ollie chose to ignore her for the time being. Besides, getting into an argument with her would only set a bad example for Margaret.

“If they’re headed here, odds are they’re out for blood. _Your_ blood.” Ollie continued, finally finding his wayward weapon and grabbing it. “I can’t even remember the last time they stuck out their necks from the Camp, so for them to risk it, they’ll be expecting a fight. My guess is they think the Blanks’ve come back for round two, and they’ve pegged you lot as the first wave of a new invasion.”

“Then it should be simple! All we have to do is go out and talk to them, and we’ll be able to clear all this up!” Ruby exclaimed, shooting up from her seat.

“You can _try_ , I suppose. Doubt it’ll do much good, what with you all being a bunch of outsiders, but it’s an option. At the very least, it’s not like bayonets will do anything to stop you lot.” Ollie said, rolling his eyes.

“…Bayonets? Why would they be using those?” Pyrrha asked, frowning.

“They’re out of ammo for their guns. Have been for years. Idiots used it all up training themselves for when the Numbs came back, so they switched over to using their blades instead. Bunch of numpties.” Ollie muttered, shaking his head. All that effort put into inventing robots and Joy, and yet nobody thought making more bullets was worth the effort. Motilene could only do so much!

 _‘What I wouldn’t give for some proper, refined Dust.’_ Ollie lamented internally, picking up and pocketing a Banger. It would certainly make defending the Station a hell of a lot easier. The handful of misshapen, mixed crystals left over from the occupation just didn’t pack the same punch as the good stuff.

…Had the room suddenly gotten quiet?

“I think you’ve broken them.” Margaret said, appearing next to him with a bemused look. Turning around, Ollie found the young Huntsmen-in-training pinning him with a variety of disbelieving stares, ranging from the doubtful to the horrified.

“…The _town militia_ doesn’t have any bullets? But…but…how? _Why?!_ ” Jaune asked, glancing back and forth at his teammates.

“Don’t particularly know, don’t particularly care.” Ollie said, moving towards the main entrance. “Right now, I’m more concerned about them storming across the lawn and making off with your bloody Bullhead. If you lot would care to join me outside-”

“In assaulting the town’s law enforcement just because you asked?” Weiss asked, crossing her arms and frowning. “How do we know you’re even telling the truth about them? About _any_ of this?”

“Believe me or not, it’s not going to stop them from marching up here and trying to stab the lot of you.” Ollie replied. “And I wasn’t going to ask for _that_. I was just going to say we should leave before we get caught up in that whole mess.”

“That doesn’t mean we should just run away.” Ren said. “We still need to complete our mission.”

“Let’s just talk to them first! If we just explain the situation to them, maybe they’ll be willing to help us out!” Ruby said, sending a pleading look towards Ollie. It wasn’t quite as powerful as some of the ones Margaret had tried on him over the years, but it was a decent effort.

Ollie sighed, imagining the myriad of ways for this situation to end up far worse than if they’d just got out of town immediately. He wanted to shout at the outsiders, to knock some damned sense into their heads, but…

Well, it wasn’t like he’d get very far with that approach in the first place. A cricket bat and one homemade grenade would do exactly fuck-all against thirty drugged-up madmen with knives, let alone eight people with unlocked Aura and heavy weapons. And even if the lads were all strung out of their heads, there might still be a very, _very_ small chance they’d listen to reason…

It could work. Maybe. As long as the General hadn’t put some hotheaded idiot like Sergeant Murray in charge of them, at least. Or if they hadn’t been overdoing it with the Joy dosages.

 _‘I suppose it’d be nice to go an hour or so without having to beat someone senseless.’_ Ollie thought. _‘Besides, when this whole mess goes wrong, they’ll be able to handle it.’_

“I suppose we can try to talk to them. Just…don’t get your hopes up.” Ollie said, turning back towards the entrance. He tried to ignore the rapid preparations of the Huntsmen-in-training behind him, and the uncertain glances from Margaret ahead of him. He could see just as well as her how poorly this was going to go, but…

Well, at least it wasn’t the _worst_ way to get them to understand. He didn’t even want to think about what would have happened if they’d tried to go to the Village first, let alone the Parade.

* * *

While the rest of teams RWBY and JNPR gathered their equipment, preparing their weapons and Dust supplies, Yang simply went through the motions, her mind still struggling to sort through everything that had just happened.

Seriously, Ollie just dropped a bombshell like _that_ on her and expected her to stay calm? To ignore the fact that dozens, _at least_ , of kids had been dragged off? Even if it had happened years ago, that didn’t mean she shouldn’t get angry about it!

Just thinking about something like that happening on Patch…if those bastards had taken away Ruby…

No. She couldn’t think about that right now. They were trying to be nice, calm, and reasonable people to a bunch of scared, paranoid locals. It wouldn’t help their case if she couldn’t keep from melting down in front of them.

_‘Gotta stay calm. You can freak out about all this later. Now’s not the time to get Yangry.’_

…It didn’t help. Not even puns were able to cheer her up. The situation had truly become dire.

Still, at least they had something more concrete to focus on. Once they cleared things up with these ‘Home Army’ guys, maybe they’d be able to figure out what they could do to try and help out. At the very least, it’d be a good idea to get a doctor to look over their pile of captured bandits.

Soon enough, the two teams had filed out of the station, moving past the parked Bullhead and the rusty chain link fence. The southern side of the building was free from the random houses and ruins near the other entrances, opening up into a lightly wooded area.

And sure enough, just like the pilot said, there were people moving around a few dozen feet away. It was difficult to make them out at this distance, especially with the sun only just creeping over the horizon, but she was pretty sure they were all wearing the same type of uniform as Ollie: old Valean military surplus fatigues, with a distinct khaki color.

Of course, that raised the additional question as to _why_ Ollie was wearing such a uniform, or why he wanted to bail once they showed up, but they could ask about that later. He hadn’t tried to run away from them so far, at least.

As they continued to move closer, Yang started to make out more details about the new guys. All of them were holding onto bolt-action rifles, with some seriously long bayonets stuck on the ends of them. They were also wearing the same creepy masks as that ‘Uncle Jack’ guy, which wasn’t a great sign.

Just as Yang was observing the ‘soldiers’ in front of them, they seemed to look back at the same time. “Look, lads! It’s them! It’s the bleeding Numbs!” One of the men shouted out, pointing towards the approaching teams. Several of the others sprang into action, grabbing rifles and forming a firing line.

However, the wall of rifles wasn’t what Yang caught. It was the guy’s voice that sounded odd. The guys sounded like he was someone’s grandpa! And with the white hair, and…were those wrinkles?

…Oh Gods, were _they_ supposed to be the militia? They all looked like they were nearly as old as _Ozpin_! How were these geezers supposed to defend the town from _anything_?

 _‘Maybe it’s not as bad as it looks.’_ Yang thought, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest. _‘It might be like one of those Spruce Willis movies, and they’ll turn out to be a bunch of secret badasses.’_

They could also turn out to be a bunch of geriatric retirees, but she preferred the more optimistic outlook. The alternative just brought up even more questions she wasn’t really sure if she wanted answered.

“We’ve got ‘em! We’ve really got ‘em!” A different militiaman shouted, bouncing up and down giddily. “The Numbs really _did_ return! Revenge is ours!”

Ruby, seemingly not noticing their behavior, stepped forwards. “You guys have the wrong idea! We’re not Mantleans, or…Numbs, or whatever you’re calling them. We’re students from Beacon! All we’re trying to do is figure out how we can help out!”

The militiamen paused at that, staring confusedly at Ruby and the rest of them. She seemed to be getting through to them, with them lowering their rifles…

…At least, it did before the militiamen all broke down into laughter, clutching their stomachs and doubling over in amusement.

“You can’t be serious! A-are you joking?” The militiaman asked, chuckling gleefully. “Nice try, you harlot, but we’re not falling for your little scheme!”

What the _fuck_? “ _What_ did you just say?” Yang shouted, feeling red-hot fury build up inside her once more. _No one_ called Ruby something like that and left with intact bones.

“You might have changed your uniforms, and put on wigs, but that’s not nearly enough to fool us! We’d recognize a damned Mantlean from _miles_ away, and you’re no different!” The militiaman bragged with a smug, punchable smile plastered on his face.

 _‘Oh, he is_ so _going to regret saying that.’_ Yang thought, letting the all-too familiar heat build up. All it would take was a quick jab, and her gauntlets would wipe that annoying smirk right off.

Sadly, Ollie stepped forwards before she got the chance to make her move. “For fuck’s sake, Murray, they’re not the Numbs! They’re bleeding _teenagers_ , you numpty!” He bellowed.

 _That_ seemed to shake up the militiaman, judging by the shocked look on his face and how he nearly dropped his rifle. “ _Starkey?_ You’re working for _them_? Y-you’re a _traitor?!_ ” He shouted.

“Oh, for – _really_? A _traitor_? You’re calling _me_ that, and not that coward Jack?” Ollie shouted furiously, gripping his bat tightly. “I fought those bastards right alongside you! We all surrendered together!”

“But then you _ran_ , right after the Numbs couldn’t keep you under their thumb anymore! And now that they’ve come back, you’ve turned into their fucking lapdog again!” Murray spat out.

By this point, it was getting increasingly obvious that peace wasn’t going to be an option. Yang could already make out another group of militiamen starting to move up alongside the first, seeming just as incensed to fight as the first.

And Yang had no problem with that situation whatsoever.

She had already been in desperate need of something to pulverize after hearing Ollie’s description of what had happened to the town two decades ago. The rude, elderly ‘fighters’ in front of them just so happened to offer her the perfect target, even if it wouldn’t be quite as satisfying as tearing Stauffenberg into pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Maldevinine for beta-ing this chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, this is a weird idea I had.
> 
> Writing something for a game I've never played and a series I've never watched.
> 
> Well, it's not like wiki's, YouTube, and other fanfics have ever steered me wrong before, right?


End file.
